


Part V: Wishing Q Were Somehow Here Again

by jenlcb



Series: Delayed Gratification [5]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 11:43:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 39,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10189181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenlcb/pseuds/jenlcb
Summary: Negan and T'Mollek's relationship grows more complicated and even more dangerous. T'Mollek's mission comes to a climactic conclusion.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [areynolds13](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=areynolds13).



## Month 4:

### Next to Normal

Negan had begun assigning T’Mollek the vilest tasks at his house. Hand scrubbing his shower and toilet, unclogging his shower drain, handwashing his dirty underwear for some reason. He even had her dig a new latrine outside. She took it all in stride and never complained—never even raised an eyebrow, which was surprisingly difficult for her at first. There was no more playful banter or flirting, and certainly no physical contact. Time was ticking down until the Romulans would return to attack.

One damp, chilly evening, Data was at the house, attempting to teach Elgie a math lesson while T’Mollek prepared dinner.

“T’Mollek!” Elgie said, dancing into the kitchen.

“Not now, Elgie,” she said, chopping carrots, “I’m busy. Go in the living room while I’m chopping.”

“Did you know that four tens blocks and three units blocks plus two tens blocks and seven unit blocks makes _seven tens blocks?_ ” 

“I did indeed,” T’Mollek said absently. She took a step toward the sink to rinse off the knife in her hand and stepped on a block, turning her ankle. “Elgie, take this block out of this kitchen.” Her voice was sharp this time.

“Dat’s not my block,” Elgie said airily.

“I do not care whose block it is. Please remove it before someone gets hurt.”

“No sank you,” Elgie said.

“Data!” T’Mollek snapped. “Please remove Elgie _and this block_ from the kitchen while I’m working.”

The android obediently entered the kitchen, prepared to physically remove the offending child and object from the premises.

Oblivious, Elgie continued to dance as T’Mollek turned from the counter, knife still in hand, to put the carrots into the salad bowl on the table. Only her finely honed Vulcan reflexes allowed her to pull the knife back before Elgie’s eye came in contact with it.

“Elgie, get out before I kill you!” T’Mollek snapped. She slammed the knife down onto the table with a force so hard, her hand slipped and she cut herself on the blade.

Data cocked his head. Negan snapped to attention at the words. “Did you just threaten to kill that little girl?” he breathed in her ear. But his eyes were on Data, who was calculating the ramifications of the exchange.

“What?” T’Mollek said, turning to him, startled. “No—I just meant—”

“Do how many tens blocks are in a hundred square?” Elgie asked breathlessly, tugging on T’Mollek’s pant leg.

T’Mollek whirled around to face her. “SHUT. UP.”

Elgie stood in shock for a moment, then burst into justifiable wails. T’Mollek immediately regretted her words and the tone. She put her hands on the girl’s shoulders, attempting to calm her and apologize, and inadvertently leaving a smudge of green blood on the girl's white shirt. Elgie tried in vain to jerk away from her. The child had been reduced to a screaming bundle of fury, fear, indignation, a sense of injustice, and a multitude of other emotions T’Mollek recognized and had herself worked for over twenty years to eliminate from her own persona.

Those years of work had come undone in that moment, and in frustration, T’Mollek screamed back into the small child’s face with an ear-piercing shriek that hurt the little girl’s ears.

Infuriated, Negan stormed out of the office and picked up the sobbing girl.

“Get the fuck out,” he mouthed at T’Mollek, incensed.  

Data followed her out. “Dr. O’Reilly—”

T’Mollek blinked back tears and ran past him, out the door and to her tent. She slammed the door so hard, she broke a hinge.

She hadn’t had a tantrum like that since she was a chocolate-drunk eleven-year-old.

She would have liked to believe this was all just part of her ploy to downplay her mental and cultural training in front of Negan. But it was not.

Ever since she had met a certain immortal being with bedroom eyes and a playfully naughty grin over a year ago, her emotional control had been gradually eroding. Her deliberate acts of non-Vulcan behavior with Q and more recently with Negan had only reinforced the delicious comfort of fully succumbing to one’s feelings. The joy, the love, the rage, and the terror.

Would she ever find that balance again—that tightly-wound control? Were twenty years of struggle and mental effort undone forever?

Negan came to her tent. She half-hoped he would ask her if she was OK so she could burst into tears and say, “No, nothing is OK. Nothing will ever be OK,” and let him hold her and comfort her as she sobbed.

“We’re still waiting for our dinner,” he said coldly.

Instead of telling him where he could put his dinner, she submissively answered, “Yes, sir,” and followed him out.

Negan allowed her to sit at table with them—there wasn’t space in the house for a servant’s table or she felt certain she would be relegated there. She served the dinner she had prepared: the last of the frozen pork chops from the pig Del had slaughtered the day before her shuttle’s crash.

Expressionless, T’Mollek placed a serving of meat on her own plate, and without a word she began to eat.

***

As if reflecting T’Mollek’s mindset and the turn of events at the compound, Del and the children’s conditions had also deteriorated rapidly. T’Mollek now had exclusive hospital duty for the time being. She actually found it a relief to be out of Negan’s house, which held too many pleasant memories that could never be relived.

One morning, hanging from the clipboard on her door was the key to the lab.

Metaphorically, that key unlocked T’Mollek’s psyche. Del had offered himself as T’Mollek’s guinea pig. Whatever experimental cures she wanted to try, she should feel free to try on him. The miyo root had long been destroyed, but T’Mollek had a newfound determination to find a solution. She spent hours in the lab, re-studying what she had already studied—soil, water, plants, tissues, insects, everything. She got no further than she ever had.

That evening, Negan ran into the lab. “It’s Adiv. His breathing is really rough.” His eyes were red with tears and his face was drawn.

T’Mollek tried to save her littlest patient but to no avail. His tiny body heaved, and he expelled his dissolved lung and intestinal tissue through his mouth with his final breath. He died in Negan’s arms.

Covered in blood and still holding the boy, Negan collapsed to his knees and sobbed, crying out the boy’s name and “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

One of them had to remain strong. With seeming indifference to Negan’s anguish, T’Mollek stripped the bloody sheets from the bed to burn.

***

The following morning, T’Mollek’s duty roster included a note from Negan.

_Taking the truck to the city for fuel and supplies. Back in 1-2 days. Don’t wait up._

_—JT_

_P.S. Stay here. Stay safe. Stay here._

The note itself was carefully printed. The post script was hastily scrawled. A last-minute second thought.

Although her roster covered the next three days—none of which were in the house—she went to check on Elgie. Data answered the door.

“I am sorry,” he said. “President Traegar has assigned me domestic duty while he is away. You are not allowed inside.”

Without another word, he closed the door in her face.

***

Four days passed. T’Mollek returned to her tent after her day’s work was complete and noticed that she had not made her bed that morning.

_Curiouser and curiouser._

The cot looked inviting. Her face felt warm and heavy. Her eyes were dry. Breathing seemed like more effort than it was worth. She didn’t even feel like lowering herself onto the bed.

After standing in her tent, staring at her cot, motionless for five minutes, she slowly shuffled outside. Data was carrying Elgie on his shoulders. She held her arms outstretched as if she were flying. Her eyes were closed and she was smiling, carefree. T’Mollek wondered for just an instant what it would be like a year from now when the children were dead, Del was dead, Negan was dead, and it was just Data and Elgie, and her.

 _Data would be a good father_. _Perhaps he would be a good husband._

The thought snapped her back. Even for a human, marrying an android was a ridiculous notion.

 _At any rate_ , she thought _, the Romulans are coming to take Elgie in ten days. They will certainly kill me and apprehend Data for experimentation and exploitation._

She caught the little girl’s eye and rather than return T’Mollek’s smile and wave, Elgie crossly folded her arms and closed her eyes as if to say, “I don’t see you, so you don’t exist.”

T’Mollek wondered what Negan and Data had told her. She walked up the road, toward the hill.

***

An hour later, Data put Elgie to bed and stepped outside to sit on the porch swing just as T’Mollek was returning from her walk.

“Are you all right, Doctor?” he asked, completely oblivious. “You seem . . . distressed.”

“I’m just feeling . . . restive. Things have not gone the way I had hoped they would.”

“The _Enterprise_ will be back within the week,” he said. “Perhaps Del and the children will remain alive until they return.”

“Perhaps . . .” she said, giving him a sidelong look. Even she knew there were some things you simply did not say. She walked up the porch steps. “Still no word from the _Enterprise_?”

“No,” he admitted.

A sudden thought occurred to her. “Have you checked the receiver in Jaxon’s office? Perhaps they’ve tried to contact us. We should go check—” She eagerly took a step for the door.

Data held his hand up. “No. Jaxon moved his communication system to the living room before he left. I am monitoring it. They have made no contact.”

“Oh,” she said, leaning against the porch railing. “Do you think the Romulans are still in orbit, defending this planet?”

“Possible. However, any speculation as to that would be only that—speculation.”

“But to what end?” she mused. “They already destroyed virtually every living being on this planet. Why not finish the job and take it over? Why leave us here?”

“Perhaps the children’s illness is keeping them at bay.”

“Yes, but why not just bomb the compound and destroy the problem? What are they waiting for?”

“It is not a given that the Romulans are still in the vicinity, ‘waiting for’ anything,” Data said calmly. “I merely said it was a possibility.”

“Mm hm,” she said, knowing the truth but not ready to tell Data how she knew. She changed the subject. “Ne—Jaxon was due back two days ago.”

“Yes, he was.”

“Did he give you any indication that he might not return?”

“No, he did not. In fact, he seemed anxious to return quickly. He is concerned that you have an unhealthy obsession with him and his daughter. That you are harboring a secret desire to be his mate and to remain here with them as a family.”

T’Mollek silently gaped at him for a very long time. “. . . _What_?”

Data raised his voice to a louder volume. “Jaxon is concerned that you are harboring a sec—”

“No. Data. I am not,” she interrupted, standing up straight and with dignity. “I have performed domestic duties in his home. I go where he assigns me.”

“He asserted that you threatened to murder Elgie.”

 _I knew it_.

“I didn’t threaten her,” she explained. “She was playing in the kitchen and I was holding a knife. I scolded her because she came dangerously close to being hurt.”

“Nevertheless,” Data said, “he expressed concern for his and Elgie’s safety.”

She started to retort that this was ridiculous, but she stopped herself. The truth was, she had grown—if not obsessed, then certainly fixated on him, his whereabouts, and gaining access to his inner sanctum. It _wasn’t_ healthy.

And quite frankly, Negan had every reason to fear for his safety. She did, after all, plan to kill him.

She recalled the suspicion on Riker’s face before she left on this mission and the fact that he’d had Transporter Chief O’Brien double check her bags for illicit materials—weapons and the like. This had all been her doing—their doubt in her ability, their mistrust.

She had overplayed her hand, and it was coming back to bite her. Hard.

She answered, as truthfully as ever, “I have absolutely no desire to be his mate. On the contrary, my greatest desire is to leave this planet and never see ‘Jaxon Traegar’ again.”

“If I am not mistaken, you expressed similar feelings for Q,” he said, “before confessing to having feelings for him.”

“Yes,” she said, wondering how the hell he had known about that. “But at least I could have a meaningful dialogue with Q.”

“You did not dialogue meaningfully with Jaxon?”

“Not exactly.” She blushed.

“Was meaningful dialogue with Jaxon a desire of yours?” he asked. He was starting to sound like Counselor Troi.

The connection she had briefly felt with Negan went beyond dialogue. She recalled the devastation he felt when Adiv died in his arms. When he returned from burying Doston. The love and affection he showed to Elgie. The warm, sad honey-brown eyes that looked down at her. His gruff voice and manner. But also his gentleness—his gentlemanliness at times. She would give almost anything to go back in time and handle his reaction to Adiv’s death differently. To hold him in her arms and comfort him.

She shook her head and leaned against the railing again. “I don’t know. I only wanted to complete my mission and go home to Starbase 11. Now, hope of ever returning to the world and the people I know continues to dwindle. You are literally my last friend in the world.”

T’Mollek wiped away a tear, annoyed at her own emotional response.

“Are you experiencing an allergic reaction?” Data asked.

“No,” she muttered defensively.

“An airborne irritant of some kind?”

“ _No_.”

Data was perplexed. “Was that tear the result of an emotional stimulus?”

“Yes, Data. I am reacting to an emotional stimulus. I have reached my emotional breaking point. Logic has seemed to have lost its meaning for me here.”

“Your current behavior _is_ unlike that which I have previously observed during the short time I have known you,” he agreed.

Data pondered the situation, calculating the appropriate response based on her apparent consternation. He moved to the side of the porch swing and stiffly patted the seat next to him, inviting her to sit down. She smiled and sat down beside him.

“I think I’m feeling psychologically depressed,” she admitted aloud.

“Depression,” Data said, his head tilted again in accessing mode. “‘An ongoing feeling of sadness, anxiety, hopelessness, helplessness, worthlessness, or guilt.’ That does follow. Most of your shuttle crew died. Your attempts to save the children resulted in the deaths of two. Del is dying. Jaxon is missing. Another swine has esca—”

“I killed them,” she said quietly as if to herself. “All three of the crew members on my team.”

“You did not kill them. Their own actions resulted in their deaths. Doctor Richards failed to follow safety protocol in securing the panels on the shuttle. His colleagues chose to disregard your orders to remain seated in order to help him.”

“You don’t understand,” she told him. “I wanted Dr. Richards to fail. I looked him right in the eye and _wanted_ him to give me reason to punish him for insubordination. And three people died.”

“I still do not understand how your unspoken desire was responsible for the deaths of three crewmen.”

“It doesn’t matter, Mr. Data.”

“Then why are you telling me this?” he asked.

She smiled humorlessly and intoned, “Confession is good for the soul.”

“Nevertheless, despite your confession,” he said, “you are still crying.”

She scoffed impatiently. “I’m feeling misunderstood, Data. I am completely alone.”

“But you are not alone. I am here.”

She shook her head again and smiled sadly. “It's not the same.”

“Why not?”

“Apparently I do need human contact after all.”

“Ah,” he said, understanding. “You miss the closeness you enjoyed with Q.”

“The . . . closeness?”

“The sexual intercourse,” he clarified.

She whipped her head to face him, astonished. “Where did you hear _that_?”

“It was a frequent topic of discussion in Engineering and in Ten Forward,” he said. “And I heard several crew members discussing it in the turbolift. Commander Riker told me before we left on the shuttle that if Q were to appear, I was to assume command from you. By force, if necessary.”

“Data,” T’Mollek said in genuine surprise bordering on amusement, “have you been _gossiping_ about me?”

“I . . . _did_ convey the information I had heard in Engineering, Ten Forward, and the turbolift . . .” he said thoughtfully.

“Well, don't believe everything you hear.”

“But . . . why would Commander LaForge lie?”

She smiled weakly. “He wouldn't lie, exactly. But when faced with incomplete information of a personal nature, humans have the unfortunate tendency to fill in the gaps with supposition and speculation. After a fashion, they assume these suppositions to be fact.”

“They practice self-delusion? To what purpose?”

“They feel it's more emotionally satisfying to believe something salacious than to know nothing at all.”

“I see. So you did not experience closeness with Q?”

“I experienced . . . .” What _had_ she experienced? “A _sort_ of closeness with Q.”

Back on track, Data continued, “And you miss that.” He seemed to be leading toward something.

She nodded.

He shifted to face her. “But you do _not_ desire this from Jaxon.”

She made a gesture with her head and hands that could be interpreted as either a shrug or a shake of the head.

“Doctor. I realize that I am not human,” he said. “But I do have some experience in the art of lovemaking . . .”

T’Mollek choked on her own spit for a moment.

“. . . and I am a fully functional male. Perhaps if you and I were to experience . . . intimacy . . . this would help relieve you of your depression?”

T’Mollek blinked several times, then opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out of it.

Data was still talking. “My understanding of Vulcanoid physiology and psychology with regard to physical closeness and emotional state is limited. However, my research indicates that among _humans_ , the act of sexual intercourse releases a number of mood-elevating hormones that—”

She put her hands up to stop this onslaught of uncomfortable words, innuendo, and sexual solicitation. “I appreciate the offer, Data, but . . . I do not think it would help in my case.”

A long pause sat in between them, and then she said quietly, “Fully functional, you say?”

“Fully.”

“Well,” she said. “The biological imperative to mate is for the purpose of propagating life. And I trust you are not . . . _that_ fully functional.” She momentarily flashed on the absurd notion of an emotionally crippled Vulcan/Romulan/Human/Android child navigating the universe.

“That is correct. However, you stated the need for 'human contact.' Again, I am not human. But I can offer physical contact.” He tilted his head slightly to one side and held his arms out to her stiffly. “Would you like a hug?”

She looked down at his weirdly stiff arms, actually considering this. “I . . . don't generally hug, as a rule.”

“I see. Perhaps a kiss?” He leaned in, eyes open, lips slightly puckered.

A bit startled, T’Mollek leaned away from him. “No—! That is still perhaps a bit too much intimacy.”

“Very well,” Data said. “I could . . . hold your hand.” He held out a pale, somewhat shiny hand to her.

T’Mollek hesitated, then took his hand. She relaxed. His hand felt surprisingly natural, even warm to the touch. “Actually, this is not bad.”

Gently but mechanically, Data stroked the back of her hand with his other hand, much as he did with Spot, his pet cat. “You are feeling more relaxed?”

“I don't know about that,” she said, a trifle tensely. “But it is . . . comforting to know I am not alone.”

“Very well,” he said. They sat in silence a moment or two. “If you change your mind about sexual intercourse, let me know.”

“Thank you, I will,” she said professionally.

After several minutes, she did begin to relax and feel better. She even considered resting her head on his shoulder. This thought was interrupted by a loud series of distant explosions. She and Data stood up quickly and saw a long, thick plume of smoke rising over the hill from the capital.

Elgie ran outside to the porch. “What was _that_?”

“I do not know,” T’Mollek said quietly, her heart pounding and her head spinning. “Go back to bed.”

“Should I investigate?” Data asked his commander.

She quickly weighed the options. As tempting as was the opportunity to explore the interior of the house unencumbered, the possibility of losing Data to whatever dangers lay in the city was too great a risk. And Negan’s postscript had been explicit. _Stay here_. He had written it twice, underlining it the second time. Was he hiding something from her? She didn’t believe so. This explosion seemed evidence enough: he was telling her it wasn’t safe there.

Once again, he had been protecting her.

“No, Data. I think I’d feel better if you stayed here with us.”


	2. The Long Walk Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negan and T'Mollek have their Beauty & the Beast moment when he's injured trying to ensure her safety and she tends to his wounds.

### The Long Walk Home

A good night’s sleep, along with her emotional release and the sweet—albeit awkward—advances of Data, left T’Mollek feeling somewhat purged of the worst of her depression. Furthermore, Data and Elgie were speaking with her again—in passing and only outdoors, but it was something. Negan was quite possibly dead, perhaps relinquishing her of the unpleasant task of killing him. And Del and the children’s health had once again begun to improve.

She left the hospital after her rounds and headed to the barn to feed the livestock. Before she reached the barn, she glanced up the hill and stopped short. Something was moving.

She ran inside and grabbed the set of binoculars that hung near the door. She went back outside and put the binoculars to her eyes. Negan was stumbling slowly down the hill toward the compound.

She called for Data to bring her a bottle of water from the refrigerator, and she hastily packed a bag with first aid supplies and saddled up the horse.                                                                                             

“It’s Negan,” she said, pointing into the distance when Data brought her the water. She mounted the horse and rode off at full gallop up the hill.

When she reached Negan, she pulled hard on the reins and jumped to the ground. She hurried to him where he lay in the grass, waiting for her. She knelt beside him, putting her hands on his face, his chest, his arms and legs, checking his wounds. He was bruised, burned, abraded, and dehydrated. His left wrist appeared broken.

He opened his eyes and she helped him to sit. She handed him the water bottle. He glanced at it through the eye that wasn’t swollen shut, scoffed a little, then opened the bottle and guzzled it.

“Pardon my brutal honesty,” she said, no emotion registering on her face, “but you look like shit.”

He gave her a brave but weak grin, his dimples showing beneath his blood-stained beard. “You should see the other guys.”

“How many were there?” she asked, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the damage—shards of broken glass covered his body.

“I’unno,” he grunted. “Six?”

She didn’t have to ask whether they were Romulans. He was covered with green blood as well as his own. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

He shook his head and looked away, avoiding her eyes. “They blew up the whole truck as soon as I got it loaded.”

“They must have been some pretty explosive supplies,” she said dryly. He nodded grimly. “Do they know you survived?”

His grin faded. “They know.”

“Why did they let you go?”

He shrugged.

“Can you get onto the horse?”

“I think so.”

She could easily have picked him up and carried him back in the same way Data had carried her when they crash landed on Algalon. But it was best to continue hiding her strength from him. She would evidently still need to kill him after all.

She boosted him onto the horse then climbed on behind him. They rode to the compound and she helped him down and into the hospital.

She helped him to the examination room where she removed his bloody, torn, and charred shirt, throwing it into the trash. His shoulders, chest, and back were battered with shrapnel and glass. She set to work cleaning his wounds and removing the foreign bodies. They half-filled a bowl.

His left wrist was indeed broken, and she set and cast it in plaster.

Once he was stitched and bandaged, she helped him across the road to his house, where she found that the door was locked. Elgie answered her knock and cried, “Dzaxon!” She threw her arms around his legs. He winced but smiled as he carefully cupped the back of her head with his right hand.

“Careful now,” T’Mollek warned, holding onto him.

Elgie furrowed her brow in dramatic sternness. “You’re not s’posed to come in.”

“I need to help Jaxon walk,” T’Mollek said.

“Noooo!” Elgie whined in fury, stomping her foot.

“Elgie,” Negan said softly. “Settle. It’s OK” Then he asked sharply, “Where’s Data?”

“He’s downstairs washing the laundries,” Elgie answered.

Negan looked relieved. “’Kay,” he said, and resumed shuffling down the hall with T’Mollek helping him along.

They got as far as his office, but when they reached his bedroom door, he said curtly, “I’m good.”

“Let me help you into bed,” she urged.

He grinned. “You wish.”

“Jaxon . . .” she protested.

“I’m _good_ ,” he said firmly, the humor gone. He gave her an annoyed side-eye.

She sighed and turned to go.

“T’Mollek,” he said.

She turned back to him hopefully.

“Learn to be happy with what you have,” he said.

They stared a long time into one another’s sad eyes, and then Elgie gave T’Mollek a surprisingly strong shove out the door.


	3. Negan with the Bathwater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T'Mollek's feelings take a turn when she helps Negan with his bath.

### Negan with the Bathwater

Nine days went by without any sign of Negan outside. There were no duty rosters. T’Mollek tended the farm and her patients as she saw fit. Data had not requested medical attention on Negan’s behalf.

On the tenth day, T’Mollek woke up, made her bed, and got dressed. She went outside to find Data and Elgie investigating insects in the front yard. Elgie was wearing her backpack and holding her magnifying jar, which contained a spider and a mass of webbing. They were looking at the spider through the side of the container and Data was pointing out the names of the insect’s body parts. T’Mollek walked over to them.

Elgie saw her and stood up excitedly. “Guess what!” she exclaimed, holding her hands up in front of her as though trying to catch T’Mollek’s answer like a football.  "My hypopasis was _correct_! The spider chased the cricket down and then _eated the cricket!_ "

“That is fascinating!” T’Mollek enthused, putting her hand on the top of Elgie’s head in approval. “How is Jaxon doing?” she inquired of Data. “I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since his return from the capital.”

_Seriously, where am I getting all of these idioms?_

Data checked off his mental list. “He appears to be in a great deal of pain, as evidenced by his slower than usual ambulation and other physical actions. He has not been eating. He sleeps a great deal of the time. He speaks far less than usual.” He paused as Elgie shook his pant leg and beckoned him to bend down to her. She whispered something into his ear, and he stood up. “Elgie reports that he ‘stinks.’”

“Stinks?”

“My olfactory senses _have_ detected an increase in the presence of bacterial breakdown emanating from Jaxon since his return,” Data acknowledged. “Additionally, his overall physical appearance has been less . . . orderly than usual.”

“He hasn’t been showering?”

“I believe that is a valid conclusion.”

“He sounds depressed,” she remarked.

“That is not a diagnosis I can make with any certainty.”

“Thank you, Data. Thank you, Elgie.”

T’Mollek left them in the yard and went to do rounds at the hospital. The patients were continuing to improve. She read a chapter of “Alice in Wonderland” to the children, who begged for one more. This was an excellent sign.

Afterward, she walked across the road to Negan’s house. Data and Elgie were not in the yard. She hesitantly knocked on the door. There was no answer.

She tried the doorknob and it turned.

“Data?” she called softly. “Elgie? . . . Jaxon?”

She stepped inside. Negan’s communication console was not in the living room. She looked down the hall to her left. His office door was open and she saw his view screen on his desk. She started to walk that way when she saw Negan lying on the couch, snoring lightly. She considered waking him, then changed her mind and headed cautiously toward his office.

The damnable squeaky floorboard gave her away. He took a noisy, deep breath and opened his eyes.

“Am I dreamin’?” he asked with a wry smile, stretching awake.

“You are not.”

He started to sit up, having some difficulty due to the broken left wrist and other contusions. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” he grunted.

“I’ve brought you some analgesics,” she said, handing him a small bottle. She got him a bottle of water from the refrigerator and sat down next to him on the couch. As he took the medicine, she felt his forehead. He did not appear to be feverish.

“Thanks,” he said. There was a long pause as she looked at him expectantly. “That all?”

“Elgie has averred that you stink,” she said clinically. “She is not incorrect.”

“So whaddaya gonna do about it, Doc?” he said, issuing the challenge.

“Sit here,” she whispered. “I’ll be right back.”

She walked boldly into his office and then into the bathroom on the right. She put the stopper in the bathtub and drew warm water. She lay out towels, soap, shampoo, a wash sponge, a scissors, and a straight razor.

She returned to the living room and helped him to stand. He leaned on her as they walked into the bathroom. She closed the door.

They stood there, facing each other in silence. T’Mollek’s face remained impassive.

“So bath time, huh?” he finally remarked, for lack of anything better to say.

She nodded.

Looking down at her, he unfastened his belt with one hand but fumbled with the buttons on his trousers. Her eyes flickered and her lips nearly twitched. She stepped forward, looking him in the eye, unashamed, and pulled the button out of the buttonhole of his jeans. He stared down at her, his brow slightly furrowed. She held onto one side of his waistband with her right hand while her left hand reached for the zipper and pulled it down. She slipped her hands into either side of his jeans and slid them down his waist and to the floor. One of her hands may or may not have brushed the front of his boxer briefs. He kept staring down at her, unblinking, wondering how this bath was going to end.

He held onto her shoulder with his good hand for balance as he stepped out of the jeans. He stood before her clad only in his underwear, staring down at her.

“Now what, Doc?” he whispered.  
  
“You get in the water,” she answered softly.

He looked down at the contents of his boxer briefs and grinned. “Seems like a bit of a waste.”

She grasped him by the waist and turned him around to face the bathtub. He sighed, smiled, and stepped into the tub with her assistance. His casted left arm hung out of the tub, remaining dry.

She knelt beside the tub to his left. She dipped a sponge into the water and rubbed soap into it. She washed his left shoulder, chest, belly, and back. She washed his left thigh, knee, shin, calf, foot. The tub was large, however, and with her short arms, she struggled to reach across to his right side.

“Part two’s not really workin’, is it?” he chuckled.

“We’ll make it work,” she answered with determination.

She stood up and removed her boots and socks. Then she stripped down to her underwear. The black tankini and shorts were dark against her pale skin. She calmly stepped into the tub, sitting behind Negan, her legs stretched out on either side of him.

“Well, _someone’s_ gotten fuckin’ comfortable,” he remarked.

“Have I overstepped my bounds?” she asked placidly, sponging his right armpit and chest from behind.

“Not. At. _All_ ,” he said softly, closing his eyes.

“Your mood seems to be improving.”

He chuckled and shook his head in delighted amazement.

After washing the right side of his body, she placed the sponge into his hand. “The rest is for you.”

“Aw, man . . .” he complained light-heartedly.

With the sponge in his right hand, and his casted left hand hanging over the side of the tub, he attempted to maneuver underneath the waistband of his shorts. From behind, T’Mollek courteously reached around him and slipped her fingers into the waistband on either side and pulled the elastic away from his body. He slid the sponge into his briefs to wash himself. The back of his right hand brushed against her right palm, still holding his briefs back, and she let her hand rest on his, moving along with it as he washed. Her breasts pressed against his back. She took a sharp, deep, involuntary breath through her nose and her eyes drifted closed.

Negan made a low, primal sound of wry amusement. “You’re fuckin’ killin’ me.”

“Mm-hm,” she agreed soothingly. He had no idea how right he was.

“You’ve been waitin’ a long time to get into my pants,” he teased.

“It may take months and it may take years,” she whispered into his ear, “but I almost always get what I want.”

He chuckled soft and low. “Ahhh, yes,” he murmured. “Delayed gratification.”

When he had completed his hygiene, she took the sponge from him, wrung it out, and set it on the floor to their left.

They sat in silence for a while. Slowly, and without quite realizing she was doing it, she wrapped her arms around him, and lay her right cheek against his warm, wet back, her right arm around him, her hand resting on his chest, feeling his heart beat. He sighed in deep contentment and put his right hand up to hold hers. He gave the pad of her hand a tender kiss.

She kissed the back of his right shoulder.

After several moments, she gave his hand a small squeeze of dismissal and got back to work, getting up on her knees behind him.

She poured shampoo into her hand, rubbed her hands together, and placed them in his hair, slowly massaging his scalp. He groaned at her touch and relaxed against her. She rinsed his hair and then placed a towel around his neck. She picked up the scissors and trimmed his hair, setting the wet locks on another towel on the floor outside the tub.

“Move forward,” she commanded, and he obeyed, still holding his broken left wrist up over the edge of the tub and out of the water. Her wet body pressed against his. Her knees were planted on the slippery tub floor, her thighs holding him in place. She kept her breathing steady, but she never did have full control over her heart.

She lathered his face alongside his beard and picked up the razor. The bathroom light shone against the steel, and she caught a reflection of her own eye in the razor.

He closed his eyes, placing all his trust in her, feeling her heart pounding against the back of his head as she tipped his head back against her chest and the razor in her hand found his neck.

The front door opened and the squeaking of the floorboards startled T’Mollek and she involuntarily jerked the razor away from his jugular.

“Dzaxon?” Elgie called.

“I’m in the bathroom, gettin’ a shave and a haircut,” he called back. “I’ll be out in a little bit.”

“OK!”

T’Mollek silently shaved the errant whiskers around Negan’s neck and wiped the lather on the towel. When she was finished, she stepped out of the tub, toweled off, and helped Negan out of the tub. She placed a towel around his shoulders and another around his waist, helping him to dry off while he watched her, their eyes locked on one another all the while.

When he was dry, he turned and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked like a new man. He rubbed a hand across his beard and neck. “Not even a nick,” he observed.

Without a word, T’Mollek got dressed, put away the shower materials, rolled up the dirty towels, and walked out of the room and out of the house.

She went straight to bed.


	4. Bloody Murder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negan pushes T'Mollek to her breaking point, and she finally gets blood on her hands. A well-intentioned (and fully-functional) Data offers awkward solace.

### Bloody Murder

Two days after his bath, haircut, and shave, Negan and T’Mollek were in the lab together. All the awkward, uncomfortable tension was gone. She was peering into the microscope and he was holding a clipboard, taking inventory.

“You’ve tested that water a dozen times,” he commented, writing down the number of test tube. “You’re not gonna find anything new.”

“I feel as if the answer were right in front of me, but I just can’t see it,” she said. “Del and the children are improving again. Whatever this is, it’s affecting them on parallel courses. They improve, they deteriorate, they improve again. All of them.”

“You’re wasting your time on a mystery that’ll never be solved with the resources you have. You have work to do here, especially now that Del’s sick. The patients need new IVs. The eggs need gathered. The animals need tended to. The linens need cleaned and sanitized.”

“Elgie should be helping.”

“She’s a child.”

“She has the capability to be of service,” T’Mollek insisted. “She can gather the eggs, feed the livestock. Fold the linens. She can be an enormous help, and it will greatly improve her self-worth.”

“Finish up your little tests and gather the eggs yourself. Be sure to log your hours. You neglected your administrative duties while I was gone.”

“My administrative . . . ? You do realize it’s just you and me here, do you not?”

His gaze softened. “That is a fact I am _keenly_ aware of.”

Her stomach tightened—or maybe it was her uterus. It was time she laid a few of her cards on the table. She took a deep breath. “The _Enterprise_ is not returning.”

He looked away. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” she said grimly. “We have to get off this planet. I know that you found a runabout and that it is operational along with both shuttle crafts, including their weapons and communications systems. If the Romulan ship that attacked us is still orbiting Algalon, and I believe it is, we could take all three of them out. I’m the weakest pilot. I will go out first and draw fire. Del will back me up. Meanwhile, Data will take you and the children to Betagon—”

“Data isn’t going anywhere unless I say so,” he interrupted. “You can’t pilot a ship. Del is in no shape to use the latrine on his own, let alone fly an attack.”

“We can’t stay here.”

“We can and we will. The _Enterprise_ will return for us.”

“Why are you being so stubborn?” she asked incredulously. “You know the _Enterprise_ isn’t coming. If you refuse to cooperate, Data and I will take the runabout alone and we will send help.”

He turns to her, a smug, confident smile. “He won’t go.”

“Elgie deserves the chance to live a normal life with other children and a chance at a future. If you want to stay, stay. I will take Elgie to—”

Instantly, Negan was in her face, seething, threatening. “I will fucking end you myself before I let you take her from me.”

T’Mollek was momentarily startled. She had seen him angry before, but this was the first time he had actually threatened her life.

He softened immediately and smiled, looking at his pen and frowning. “We’re out of ink. When you’re finished here, go out to the bay and catch a few squid. Harvest some ink.”

“Do you not find it a waste of time and energy to keep written logs when there is so much else at stake?”

“Do you not find it insubordinate to question authority? I thought Vulcans were trained to do their duty.”

“Vulcans are trained to think logically,” she countered.

Negan smiled with mock sympathy. “It must be so exhausting trying to pass for one thing when you so clearly identify as something else.”

She glared at him, knowing she should roll over and play the part of the weak-minded subordinate, but it was _so difficult._

They heard a loud snap and squealing from outside.

“T’Mollek, take care of that, too, would you?” he asked off-handedly, looking down at his clipboard. “You know what to do. And be sure and log your hours accurately, hm? After you’ve harvested the ink?”

She stared at him in disbelief.

“This is where I have to ask you to be a good little Vulcan and do your duty,” he said. His face looked amused, but his eyes were cold.

She took a deep breath. “Yes, sir.” She walked out of the lab.

Negan let out a loud breath, and dropped the clipboard onto the counter with a loud clatter. She was going to be a problem. He knew how to take care of problems like this, but he wanted to find an alternative. He just needed her to follow his rules and do what he said, and he would keep her safe.

T’Mollek stalked out to the field where Data was playing ball with Elgie. T’Mollek took the ball out of Data’s hand and with her powerful arm, threw it far over Elgie’s head. Elgie loudly protested, “That’s too high!” and ran after it.

When Elgie was out of ear shot, T’Mollek said quickly, “Mr. Data, I need to borrow a tool. Something that can deliver 1.25 amps of electricity?”

“There are several tools that have capability,” he said. “What purpose are you trying to serve?”

She looked at him a moment, then answered flatly. “I need to kill something.”

***

T’Mollek walked to woods behind the hospital. She carried a bucket of well water in one hand, a sonic driver in the other, and a knife in the back of her boot. Not her bone knife; this was a conventional kitchen knife from Negan’s house. The escaped pig hung terrified by one hind leg from a snare trap. She stood beside it, her hand to its face, sending calming thoughts. Its thrashing slowed down, then ceased. It swung gently, its legs moving slightly as if it were walking. She placed the sonic driver against the animal’s head and delivered an electronic surge directly to its brain. It stopped moving, stunned but not dead. As it hung from the rope, she held it steady and slashed its throat. Unfortunately, it was a dull knife, and it was not a clean cut. Blood splattered her from head to foot. Fortunately, there was little thrashing from the animal. It thought it was still running through the forest and sniffing out truffles, as its life ebbed away in a red, frothy sea.

On her grandparents’ pig farm, they would have boiled the animal in a vat of water but the compound did not have such amenities. When Data found her, she had cut the rope and the dead pig was lying on its back as she sliced the skin surgically from the body.

“Do you need any—oh!” Data said, actually sounding startled.

“Do I need any what, Mr. Data?” T’Mollek asked, somewhat manically, hacking off the swine’s head.

“I was wondering if you needed any assistance, but it seems that you have matters well in hand.”

“I have more than that, Mr. Data,” she said as she sliced off a hind leg. “I have matters well in _ham_.” She held up the leg, giving it a little shake to emphasize the joke.

“I . . . do not understand.”

“It's a pun my grandfather used to make during the slaughter.” She sliced off the other hind leg. “A horrible, horrible pun. Not funny at all. Even by human standards. My grandfather is _not a funny man_!”

“I see,” Data said, not knowing what else to say. “I am surprised to see you perform this task with such skill.”

“I lived on my grandparents' farm after my parents were killed,” she said as she sliced off the front leg. “I've done this many times. Albeit with better sharpened equipment.” She sliced off the final leg, hacking at it a bit.

“It is unusual to see a Vulcan butchering an animal without disgust.”

Bitterly calm, but through gritted teeth, T’Mollek said, “Disgust is an _emotion_ , Mr. Data.”

She sliced the animal shallowly down the center in one swift move. “Vulcans do not _feel_ emotion.”

She sliced around the rectum. “That is to say, they do not _exhibit_ their emotions.”

She split open the abdomen. “However, as so many are fond of pointing out to me . . .”

She pulled out the genitals and held them up. “. . . I am _not_ a _Vulcan_.”

She pulled out the viscera and it fell to the ground at her feet with a _floomp_.

“Doctor, are you all right?” Even the android recognized an emotional breakdown when he saw one.

“Yes. Why?” She looked up at him, breathless and covered in blood and wet slime.

“Your mood seems a bit . . . elevated.”

She looked down at her hands. “It's adrenaline.” She tossed the guts into a pile and lowered her voice. “Slaughtering a living being has that effect on me.”

“I see.”

“Is the outdoor shower operational yet?”

“No, it is not. The shower is connected to the well but overall, as you suggested, it ranks extremely low on Jaxon’s priority list.”

T’Mollek held her bloody arms open wide. “It's a pretty high priority for me at the moment, Mr. Data. I am still your commanding officer, am I not? Don’t make me command you. How soon can you have it operational?”

“If I begin now, I believe I could have it working within fifty-seven minutes.”

“Excellent. Could you heat up a tank of water for me? Please? I'm going to slice off the meat, pack it in the snow, perform a sacred burial ritual, and then take a shower.”

“Certainly.” He turned to leave.

“Data,” she said, and he turned back to her. “You’re the most valuable officer in all of Starfleet. Doesn’t it seem strange to you that he’s got you on babysitting duty?”

“He has also had me on shuttlecraft repair duty.”

“The runabout is a much more logical option for a long distance trip than the shuttlecrafts if the _Enterprise_ doesn’t return,” she pointed out. “It has better chance of making it to Betagon.”

“He isn’t concerned about making the shuttlecrafts operational,” Data told her.

“He isn’t?” she asked.

“No. He’s more interested in restoring the phaser emitters to full power.”

“The phasers over travel? To what purpose?

“I do not know. I was told not to question his motives but merely to obey his commands.”

“Has it not occurred to you that Jaxon and the Romulans may be working together?”

“That defies logic,” Data said. “Jaxon summoned us for assistance. Why would the Romulans fire on us if our assistance was needed?”

T’Mollek wiped the viscera from her hands. “I have no idea.”

***

The hot water beat down on the bare skin of her back in a torrent—her first shower in four months. The heat entered her muscles and she felt them relax. She leaned her head back and the water ran over her hair and down her face. The shampoo she had brought with her smelled of fruit and it took several attempts to clean her hair so that it worked into a sufficient lather. It might not have been strictly logical, but it sure felt good.

She hadn’t realized how filthy she had felt. The dry shampoo and her in-tent sponge baths had left a lot to be desired in the way of personal hygiene. And although the well water that fed into the shower smelled like a muddy river, it was filtered and essentially clean. And _hot._ She lathered, rinsed, and repeated, enjoying the physical sensation with absolutely no shame.

As she washed her hair the third time, she felt a sharp pain in her left hand. She held it out and saw a cut on the palm of her hand that she hadn’t noticed before in the adrenaline rush of the kill. As she watched her own green blood comingling with the pig’s red blood and the well water pouring over the open wound, she felt a wave of nausea . . . and vomited.

***

She returned to her tent, fully dressed and feeling relaxed, if a little sore in the belly, but mainly _clean_.

There was a knock at the door, and she opened it to see Data standing outside.

“Are you feeling . . . more yourself, Doctor?” he asked.

“I am, Mr. Data. Thank you. I apologize for my earlier . . . demeanor.”

“I have come to understand that stress can cause certain changes in behavior and attitude. This afternoon’s outburst, however, was of some concern.”

“Understood. However, I am more concerned about Jaxon’s focus on weapons systems. The _Enterprise_ has once again missed its rendezvous with no communication. Clearly they are not returning for us. We need to concentrate our resources on leaving this planet.”

“That assessment is not correct,” Data said. “Jaxon spoke with Captain Picard this morning via subspace radio, and he advised that there had been another delay. They will return by spring. Dr. Crusher will relieve you of command and take over the diagnosing and treating of the patients.”

“He's lying. He hasn't received any outside communication in a month.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it is so,” she said evenly. “The man you know as Jaxon Traegar is a liar, a murderer, and a thief,” her voice growing slightly agitated.

“That is a very harsh accusation. What evidence do you have of this?”

She hesitated. Should she tell Data that Negan was only pretending to be Jaxon Traegar, and that, if Traegar actually existed, he may have been murdered by Negan? She decided to keep this information to herself for now until she knew more. She was already on shaky ground.

“I have no evidence,” she admitted. “But I know him—to a certain extent. He and my family have history.”

Data cocked his head. “I was not aware of this.”

“And last month,” she continued, ignoring him, “I overheard him speaking with the Romulan commander who attacked us. She said the _Enterprise_ had been destroyed. As far as Starfleet is concerned, we were on board when it happened. No one is coming for us but the Romulans, which they will do within the next three days. We have to get off Algalon.”

“How were you able to overhear this alleged conversation?” he asked suspiciously.

She sighed in exasperation, then admitted, “I placed surveillance recorders under his desk. The ear buds I asked you to modify before this mission.”

“But you said you had lost them in the crash.” He tilted his head as he processed this. “You lied.”

“No. You surmised they were lost in the crash. I merely didn't deny it.”

“I believe that is what is known as a lie of omission.”

“ . . . Yes.”

“I trust you have a recording of this conversation?”

“No,” she admitted, feeling foolish. “The storage space is limited. I’ve been recording every day, hoping to learn more. But I would have heard if Captain Picard had spoken with Jaxon.”

“I’m afraid this has caused a loss of trust, Doctor. Your illegal use of surveillance equipment. Your failure to report communications you claim to have overheard. Your neglect to inform the captain of your personal vendetta against the leader of the colony. You accepted this mission under false pretenses. In fact, it would seem that your being assigned to this command was a calculated plot to gain access to him. Evidence is mounting that you do in fact intend to do Jaxon Traegar harm as he suspected.”

“You don’t even know him,” she said, her throat growing tight with despair. “You need to trust me. I am a colleague. A Starfleet officer.”

“Over the past four months, I have gotten to know Jaxon better than I have you,” he told her. “He appears to be who he says he is. You, however, have conveniently lost your tricorder, illegally surveilled our host, lied to me several times, and kept important information from your superior officers. Your status as a Starfleet officer does not automatically preclude you from criminal or disingenuous activity. Take for example the cases of other Starfleet officers who committed acts of treason: Admiral Cartright. Stefan DeSeve. Ro Laren. Valeris.”

“Treason—?” OK, things were getting serious now. She was going to have to convince him to trust her. “Listen, Data. I believe Jaxon Traegar is responsible for the epidemic here. He and the Romulan commander are involved in a plot together, but they are at odds. She has threatened to take Elgie if he doesn’t do what she wants. I believe he wants to stay here and fight them, but we have a better chance of escaping to Betagon with both shuttlecrafts and the runabout fully operational.”

“My duty is to the mission, and Jaxon has shown no sign of wrongdoing. Your accusation lacks both merit . . . and logic.”

“You don't trust me,” she said, feeling all hope slipping down the drain.

“I do not know you. I do know, however, that your history of paranoia and suspicion nearly kept you from graduating from the Academy. I know that you have confessed to lies and half-truths while on Algalon. Perhaps most damning of all, Commander Riker warned me that there was something, quote, ‘hinky’ about you.”

T’Mollek stared at him momentarily and then unexpectedly laughed out loud over the ridiculousness of the word and of the situation. “Well, when one makes choices, one must be prepared to live with the consequences,” she said, not to him but to herself.

“Regardless, I am afraid I must confiscate your surveillance equipment and assume command of this mission. I will, however, not confine you to quarters, as I have yet to see evidence of any intention to harm President Traegar, and I am certain that you will continue to perform your medical duties to your usual high standards. You are, however, forbidden from entering Traegar’s home or the garage. Where is the transmitter located in his office?”

She blanched. “Data, if you tell him what I’ve done . . . he will kill me.”

Data regarded her. “I do not believe that is the case.” Then he softened his voice, and said, “However, it appears that you do. Tomorrow morning the three of us will meet to discuss this situation. I will then make my determination as to who is telling the truth.”

“Yes, sir,” she said bleakly, and he left her tent.

“I can’t believe I trusted you,” she whispered. She took a deep breath to control herself.

 _I am utterly alone_.


	5. Epiphany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T'Mollek solves the mystery but with Data on Negan's side, her troubles are far from over. An unexpected kindness surprises her and complicates matters even further.

### Epiphany

“How do you feel?” T’Mollek asked.

“Weakening again,” Del answered. “Faster than the children did. Faster than Dr. Hall.”

“This ‘illness’ is not following any consistent pattern,” she said. “I am immune to Tarsen’s disease. Yet twice since my arrival, I have experienced intestinal irritation.” With dawning realization, she added, “Both times were after I bathed in well water.”

“But I’ve been drinking that water since I got here. I’ve seen Jaxon drink it.”

“You’ve drunk it directly from the well?”

“We have,” he said. “It tastes like a riverbank, but it didn’t hurt us.”

“He has never allowed me to drink it,” she said. “He always insists I drink the bottled water from Starfleet. But we’ve always filled the children’s IVs with water from the well. Boiling doesn’t kill Tarsen’s or asteria. . . . Did the _Infinity_ carry asteria plants?”

“I really wouldn’t know,” he said. “But I know Dr. Hall and I did not bring any in the shuttle.”

“Is it possible Jaxon could have brought back asteria samples secretly?”

“I suppose so,” he said, furrowing his brow doubtfully. “But why would he poison the children for two years? And why would he kill Dr. Hall and try to kill me?”

“And why, in particular, would he try to spare my life? I want to tell you something I haven’t told Data. The man’s name isn’t Jaxon Traegar. It’s Negan. He was a professional wrestler on Earth, he murdered a Cardassian opponent, and he plotted with a scientist to create and spread a deadly disease on Vulcan, then profited heavily by selling a bogus cure. He was caught, convicted, and sentenced to Algalon twenty-five years ago. He murdered the security guards escorting him—who happened to be my parents. He’s an evil opportunist. Perhaps this epidemic was intended to be a biological weapon against the Romulans but something went wrong. Perhaps he’s trying to portray himself as a selfless humanitarian, caring heroically for dying children, although he doesn’t seem interested in leaving Algalon. The only thing I know for sure is that he's been in secret communication with the Romulan ship that tried to shoot both our shuttles down. I planted a microphone in his office. He’s been lying to you and Data about speaking with the _Enterprise_. She’s been destroyed. The Romulans are coming here in three days, and Negan wants to fight them on the ground using the shuttles’ weapons, rather than trying to escape. He knows if he does, his true identity will be discovered and he’ll be incarcerated again. I believe he wants to live out the rest of his days here on Algalon—and keep us here to help him.”

There was a bit of a pause as T’Mollek stopped to take a breath and Del digested all that she had said.

“So you believe this Negan has been poisoning us?” Del said.

T’Mollek eyes nearly teared up in her relief. “You believe me?”

Del smiled kindly and took her hand, sensing that she needed a friend. “I have not trusted ‘Jaxon Traegar’ since Dr. Hall became ill just after she began to question him about his history and his relationship to Elgie. But none of the samples you tested indicated asteria.”

T’Mollek thought back on the last four months with this new information. “Negan had access to those samples. Every last one of them.”

“Then you have to re-test us,” he said, rolling up his sleeve. “Every last one.”

***

T’Mollek was not shocked to find asteria in the blood samples of Del and all the children. But she was surprised by her own disappointment. Deep in her heart, she had hoped her suspicions would prove unfounded, that there was another explanation for this epidemic. She shouldn’t have been so surprised, however, because Negan had been manipulating her since her arrival—getting close, gaining her trust, and then pulling away, becoming surly and distant making her hunger for him. Classic emotional abuse.

The pattern made sense. When Negan had left for the city, the patients had improved. He wasn’t there to continue dosing them with poison. They became worse when he returned. When he had poured the water into the herb garden, she hadn’t thought to test that water; she only tested the well water. And with the poisoned water wasted, the children started to get better again.

Unfortunately, although she knew the source of the illness, she couldn’t use the only cure she had at her disposal. The miyo root had already killed Doston. That much was certain. Negan, evil though he might be, was essentially a coward. To slowly poison the children, Dr. Hall, and Del was the act of a man who couldn't kill a child with his bare hands. The miyo root killed the boy. She couldn’t risk trying it on the others. Once the poison left their systems, they should recover—if their bodies were strong enough after this particularly harsh last bout of it.

She felt certain the asteria was hidden in Negan’s bedroom along with evidence of his true identity, which would point to his involvement with her parents. She had searched every other accessible area in the compound. He wouldn’t keep it in the barn or garage where Del or Data could stumble upon it. His Specter charm bracelet told her that he held onto his past. It was highly probably that he kept other trophies from his previous life.

But absolutely none of this mattered if they didn’t get off the planet before the Romulans came for them in three days. Negan might believe they could fight them off with phasers on the ground, but he clearly didn’t know how these vessels operated. To attempt to fire them from the ground would be dangerous in the extreme—they would almost assuredly destroy everything within a two-kilometer radius. Even if they managed to get the crafts off the ground, attempting to control them within the planet’s atmosphere would also nearly impossible—not to mention dangerous.

T’Mollek left the hospital and went into the barn to check on the animals. It was the first truly cold day she had experienced on Algalon and she had not packed for this weather. The only clothes she had left were casual short-sleeved shirts and uniform trousers. Her physiology was not accustomed to sub-freezing temperatures, and her teeth began to chatter loudly.

A few minutes later she left the barn just as Negan was walking in, his hands thrust into the pockets of the black leather jacket he was wearing. He wore a red scarf around his neck. He chuckled at the obviously freezing T’Mollek. “I could hear your teeth chatterin’ from outside.”

She smiled tightly and nodded, unable to speak for the shivering.

“You shoulda packed a sweater,” he said drolly. “Don’t tell me you tore up all your uniforms workin’ in the field.”

She turned away, attempting to raise her body temperature mentally. The muscles in her jaw slowly relaxed. “Shuch ish the cashe,” she said, through tightly clenched teeth, and tried to move past him.

He stopped her with his hand. “Wait a minute. Here.”

Slowly he unwrapped the scarf from his neck and wrapped it around hers, his eyes boring into hers all the while.

“Keep it. It’s yours.”

She debated thanking him but all her concentration was on keeping her teeth from breaking against one another. She gave him a terse nod and walked outside, keeping her pace toward her tent slow and casual.

Inside, she threw more wood onto her wood-burning stove and sat on the edge of her bed, warming herself in the heat while she heated a pot of soup for her lunch.

***                                                                                                                                                                        

An hour later, there was a knock at her door. She opened it and stood face to face with Negan. Her heart thumped guiltily in her chest. Had Data already told him what they needed to speak about? Had he decided they needed to meet now rather than in the morning?

He was holding a bundle wrapped in brown paper.

“Happy birthday,” he said, holding it out to her.

“It’s not my bir—” she began, taking the package. She paused and frowned. “Actually, it _is_ my birthday. How did you know?”

He chuckled softly and his eyes twinkled. “It’s in your record.”

She looked at the gift in her hands, not knowing exactly how to proceed. She had not celebrated a birthday since she had lived with her grandparents on Earth.

“It’s customary to unwrap a gift,” he prompted.

“Of course.” She untied the string that held the brown paper around the package. She unfolded the paper and stared at what was inside.

“This is your leather jacket.”

“Not anymore. I have others. This one’s for you.”

She didn’t know how to respond to the gesture of kindness from the man who had committed so many horrible crimes.

“Here,” he said, taking the jacket from her, stepping behind her, and helping her into it. It draped over her small frame, covering the back of her hair, which had grown considerably since she’d cut it. “It suits you.”

It smelled like leather and Negan.

“Thank you,” she muttered. _Damn you._

“You’re welcome,” his voice rumbled low, reverberating against her sternum.

Then he gently, hesitantly pulled her hair out from under the collar of the jacket. His thumb brushed the back of her neck and they both inhaled sharply at the electricity of the touch.

After several silent moments, and with all her mental and emotional strength, T’Mollek turned on her heel and walked toward the garage.


	6. Do You Love Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A well-intentioned (and fully functional) Data awkwardly comes on to T'Mollek and pays the price.

### Do You Love Me?

Even though she had been ordered not to step foot in the garage again, T’Mollek risked receiving disciplinary measures from the android and approached the open door cautiously. She knocked on the side of wall.

“Sir?” she called. In some ways, it was a relief not to be the commanding officer any longer. It was even more of a relief that Data had not yet told Negan that he had relieved her of command.

Data turned to her.

“I’m not _in_ the garage,” she said. “I’ve just come to turn these in.” She held up her hands to show him the surveillance receiving equipment—but only the one set. She hadn’t told him about the set she had placed near where he stood.

Data walked toward her and took the equipment. “Thank you,” he said.

“What time is our meeting tomorrow with Jaxon?” she asked.

“I have not spoken with him about it yet,” he answered. “But it should be first thing in the morning.”

“Data, do we _have_ to talk to Jaxon about this? Couldn’t we just let it go? I’m really scared of what he’ll do to me.” She looked deep into his yellow eyes and tried to look vulnerable. She certainly looked small in Negan’s oversized jacket.

Data’s voice was gentle. “I am sorry. It is sometimes difficult to do the right thing. But if you are telling the truth, then you should have nothing to worry about. If he is guilty, we will deal with that accordingly.”

“But how? Lock him up? The Romulans will be here in three days. We need him to escape from here.” Two tears fell down her cheeks.

“Tomorrow after our meeting, I will re-assess the circumstances. Please do not worry.” He awkwardly placed a finger on her face and wiped away her tears.

“Data,” she said meekly. “You recently offered to help sooth my nerves by . . . engaging in intimate activity with me. Does that offer still stand?”

“I suppose so,” the naïve android said. “I am surprised you changed your mind so quickly. You do not seem depressed at this moment. On the contrary, you seem slightly agitated.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “I do feel agitated. Perhaps you can calm my nerves with . . . a kiss?” She braced herself for it.

“I will endeavor to do so,” he said, somewhat perplexed.

They kissed. T’Mollek ran her fingers through his hair, then stopped suddenly.

“I'm sorry,” she said with a shy smile. “I don't want to inadvertently . . . switch you off or anything.”

“My deactivation switch is not on my head,” he said simply.

T’Mollek’s heart skipped a beat. So he _did_ have an off switch. One would have thought the leader of this mission would have been told that information in case of an emergency. She wondered if Dr. Bechdel had been told where it was. If so, that secret had gone with her to the grave.

Data was not forthcoming with the location of his switch, so T’Mollek merely said, “I see.”

They kissed again, and T’Mollek was surprised by the sensation. “Your lips are quite soft,” she murmured clinically.

“As are yours,” he returned.

“Data,” she said seriously. “I believe that I want to . . . get closer to you.” Data took half a step closer to her, put his hands on her waist and pulled her body against his.

“No,” she said, “I mean . . . I want more intimacy.”

“Do you mean sexual inter—?”

“Yes,” she hastily cut in.

“Your place or mine?” he asked.

She thought for a moment and then said, “Yours.”

***

They went immediately to his tent. She willed her heart to stop pounding. This was completely reprehensible, but she kept hearing T’Sharr’s voice in her head: “Thou shall degrade thyself if necessary.”

She sat on the bed, looking around, nervously stalling for time. She spotted a violin on his nightstand.

“Do you play?”

“Yes.”

“. . . Could you . . . play me something?”

“Of course.” He picked up the beautiful instrument and the bow and began to play. The song was extremely simple but haunting. And heartbreaking.  
  
“What is that?” she asked, her eyes filling with genuine tears. The floodgates were apparently opened now.

“’Ase’s Death’ from the Peer Gynt Suite by Edvard Grieg,” he answered, still playing. “Ase was Peer Gynt’s mother.”

That wouldn’t do. “Do you know anything else?”

“I know many pieces,” he answered. “What would you like to hear?”

She was at a loss. The song he had played reminded her of her own mother. “My mother enjoyed show tunes,” she suggested.

Data considered this, then played the jaunty opening notes to "Fiddler on the Roof."

This didn’t seem appropriate either. It was time to quit stalling and just do this. She put her hand on his arm. He stopped playing and looked inquisitively down at her. She plastered a sweet smile on her face and took the violin and bow out of his hands, setting them aside.

“Would you like to kiss now?” Data asked, accurately assessing the situation.

T’Mollek nodded. They began to kiss and it became increasingly intense. T’Mollek became particularly handsy, groping him all over his body over his uniform.

“Am I in danger of deactivating you?” she asked breathlessly.

“My switch is on my lower back,” he told her, distracted.

“I see,” she said. “Data, I am so sorry.”

“Sorry? For wh–?”

But T’Mollek had found his off switch on his lower back. He seized, frozen in mid-question.

T’Mollek looked down at him, still holding him up. She felt as though she just stabbed her last friend in the back—which, in essence, she had. She gently lay him on the bed and sat next to his prone body, his eyes open wide, still inquisitive but now with a glassy stare. She began to have second thoughts. She wanted to press his switch again, assuming it would reactivate him. But she couldn’t. She had just committed mutiny. He would have her confined—locked up if there were such space for it. And she could not allow him to tell Negan what she had done, what she suspected him of.

She would have to think of a way to stop Negan, to convince him to take Elgie away from Algalon.

And failing that, to kill him.


	7. Picnic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T'Mollek invites Elgie on a picnic, but she has ulterior motives.

###  Picnic

The next morning, T’Mollek woke early and got dressed. She wore her off-duty blue V-neck t-shirt. Her flatstone pendant hung over the shirt.

She baked two large oatmeal cookies in her tent. She placed them in a basket along with two cheese sandwiches, some grapes, and a little arugula from the walipini. She had been watching out the window all the while and saw Negan walk into the barn. She donned the leather jacket and walked outside, toward his house.

She knocked on Negan’s door, checking behind her furtively, hoping he wouldn’t see her. Elgie opened the door, but when she saw that it was T’Mollek, she started to close it in her face.

T’Mollek put her boot in the doorway, blocking it from closing. “Elgie, I wanted you to know that I baked two oatmeal cookies, which I will be taking with me to the hospital. I wanted you to be aware in case you should happen into the hospital and see those cookies. You are to know that you are _not_ put them into your backpack and sneak them out of the hospital. They are both for me.”

Without another word, she turned and walked off the porch and across the road to the hospital.

Several minutes later, T’Mollek was working in the lab when she heard the front door of the hospital open. She heard tiny footsteps. She deliberately turned her back, as though busy at work with something. The footsteps grew closer and then she heard the sound of a child furtively removing a backpack and placing it on the floor, followed by the light scraping of the basket being pulled off the counter.

T’Mollek popped her head over the counter and said, “I thought I told you not to eat those cookies?”

Elgie let out a little shriek, but when she saw the rueful grin on T’Mollek’s face as she shook her head in mock chagrin, she started to giggle uncertainly. T’Mollek took the basket out of Elgie’s hands and set it on a high shelf.

For the next hour, Elgie sat in the lab doorway, staring up at the basket, not saying a word. Finally T’Mollek said, “Elgie, I need a break. It’s a chilly but sunny day. Would you like to take a walk with me and share these cookies?”

“Yes, p’ease!” Elgie said, standing up and putting on her backpack. “I brought my nature gear.”

“Excellent.”

It was amazing the amount of studied avoidance that could be overcome with one oatmeal cookie.

T’Mollek pulled two bottles of water out of the small refrigerator in the lab and placed them in the basket. They were labeled “Well water.”

Elgie looked at the unfamiliar signage on the sides of the bottles and reached a hand out to one. She pointed to the letters and sounded them out. “Wuh-wuh-wuh . . . eh-eh-eh . . . luh-luh-luh . . . . luh-luh-luh. Wuh-eh-luh-luh. Wuehl. Well? Well water?” she guessed.

“Very good reading, Elgie,” T’Mollek said.

“I don’t drink the well water,” Elgie said solemnly. “It’s too warm and yucky for me. I dest drink the regliar water.”

“But this tastes just like the regular water. I tasted this water myself. It has been refrigerated and it tastes perfectly fine. Jaxon and Del drink this water.” T’Mollek took a long drink from her bottle. “Mmm. Grown-up water. Cool and refreshing!”

She popped open the lid on Elgie’s bottle and looked at her expectantly. Elgie skeptically put it to her lips and sipped. “It _is_ cool and afeshring!” she proclaimed.

“See?” T’Mollek said. “You can always trust that I will keep you safe. And tomorrow you can tell Jaxon that we drank and enjoyed some good, clean well water. Now then, are you ready to go?”

“Yes!” Elgie said, taking T’Mollek’s hand. “Can we go to the beach?”

“Of course.”

T’Mollek took Elgie south toward the beach. They heard the distant sound of winter locusts.

“What’s making dat noise?” Elgie asked nervously.

“The sound is very much like that of the Screaming Ghost Creature of Vulcan,” T’Mollek remarked casually.

“Screaming Ghost Creature?” Elgie repeated, wide-eyed.

“It's about the size of your fist. . . .” Elgie looked down at her own fist. “Well, the size of _my_ fist,” T’Mollek amended, comparing the size of her fist to Elgie's. “The Vulcans say that it flies at the faces of children and sucks their life force through their nose and mouth. Before it attacks, it screams with the sounds of all the other children's life forces it has stolen. It is an old legend. It's probably just a very large insect of some kind.”

“Have you ever seen one?”

“I have not. But they sound exactly like . . .” There was a high-pitched buzzing in the distance. “That.”

“Oh . . .” Elgie said quietly, snuggling closely to T’Mollek.

“Don't worry, it's just a story, too ancient to be real. Besides . . . one would never torment someone as young and innocent as you.” She gently brushed the hair away from Elgie's face, holding her cheek in the palm of her hand and looking lovingly into her eyes. “Although it might explain why so many of the children of this village have gotten sick and died. . . . Drink your water. Hydration is important to staying healthy.”

Elgie guzzled her water worriedly. “Will drinking water make the Screaming Ghost Bug not take my life force?” she wanted to know.

T’Mollek looked down at her sagely. “It couldn't hurt.”

She pulled the sandwiches from the basket and handed one to Elgie, who unwrapped it and took a bite. T’Mollek reached back into the basket. “I almost forgot. I brought your vitamin.”

“I already took my vitamin this morning,” Elgie said proudly.

“Did you really?” T’Mollek said in surprise.

Elgie laughed. “No, I was dest kidding you!” She gamely took the vitamin from T’Mollek’s hand and swallowed it.

She noticed T’Mollek’s pendant for the first time. “Dat looks like my necklace,” she said.  
  
“Hm?”

Elgie pulled her own necklace from the inside of her shirt. On hers were carved the letters “CEA.” The ridges on her pendant were a perfect match to those on T’Mollek’s.

_CEANNA._

T’Mollek shuddered involuntarily. It must have been the chill.

“Where did you get this?” T’Mollek asked.

“Dzaxon gived it to me,” she answered. “He said it was my mommy's. She died . . .”

“I . . . am sorry,” T’Mollek said. “My mother died as well.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Thank you.” T’Mollek touched Elgie’s pendant. “Where is the other half?”

“What other half?”

“The other half of this pendant?” She swallowed the rage that was building inside her. Not only had Negan murdered her mother, but he stole her necklace as a trophy and gave it to this child twenty years later.

“It doesn't have a other half. This is all there is. It's dest bumpy here because life's got lots of bumps.”

“Is that what Jaxon told you?”

“Uh huh. Sometimes the road goes smoove, and sometimes the road goes bumpy. So you dest gotta hold on tight and try not to fall out.”

“Falling out would be bad,” T’Mollek concurred.

“You could break opened your head,” Elgie said sincerely. “Dat’s what happened to my mommy. She falled and breaked open her head.” Her voice lowered to a whisper, “When the Romulans comed.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I was dest a baby. I dinnit knowed her. But I seed pictures.

“You have pictures of your mother?” T’Mollek said with interest.

“I seed dem in Dzaxon's closet. He dinnit like me going in there but sometimes I dest like to go in there and see things. Like, what he has in his black box, and what he keeps in the back of his shelfs . . . .”

“What else did you see?”

“I seed a knife!” She held up her hands dramatically. “And I seed a gun! And I seed Yucille.”

“You saw me seal?” T’Mollek asked.

Elgie laughed. "No. _Yucille_."

"You seal?"

"Not 'You seal.' _Yu_ cille."

T'Mollek thought for a moment. "Lucille?"

"Yes!" Elgie exclaimed, proud of her friend for being so persistent. "Yucille!"

"You saw Lucille? Who is Lucille?"

“It’s like a brown stick. It says Yucille on it.”

T’Mollek remembered the old baseball bat Negan had been holding when Riker, Troi, and she had beamed down for their initial meeting four months ago. Her mother had shown her pictures of old baseball bats from hundreds of years ago. Many of them were branded “Louisville Slugger.” Negan’s bat had been worn so extensively that the only letters showing were L U S ILLE.

T’Mollek was impressed with Elgie’s reading ability. She had been holding out.

Elgie continued, “But Dzaxon doesn't like me to see these sings because they're dangerous and they're from another time, when he was a different man. But I sink he's dest teasing me because Dzaxon couldn't be a different man, could he?”

“As much as he might like to believe so,” T’Mollek said ironically, “no, he could not. You say these are in his bedroom closet?”

“Yeah.”

“And he lets you go in there and snoop?”

“Not anymore. He putted a lock on the door.”

“Does the lock make music? Like his office door makes?”

“Yep,” Elgie said. “It says, _Beeeep-bee-boo-boooop_. Like a song.”

“Like this song . . . ?” She sang, “Pi Beta Phi,” the last words from her mother’s fraternity anthem, “Speed Thee My Arrow.”

“Yeah,” Elgie said excitedly. “Like the arrow song!”

T’Mollek gave her a strange smile. “You know the arrow song?”

“Dzaxon sings it to me!”

T’Mollek’s mind flashed to the skull charm overlaid on three arrows that Negan wore on his wrist.

“Elgie,” T’Mollek said suddenly and sincerely. “I am sorry I accused you of taking my tricorder. I know you didn't take it.”

“I couldn’t’ve tooken it because the door was locked,” she said. “And den it wasn’t locked but the music sing was gone.”

“I know that now. I apologize for not believing you.”

“I forgive you!” said Elgie, who had an enormous heart.

“Thank you,” T’Mollek said.

“You talk to me like I’m a person,” Elgie told her.

“You _are_ a person.”

“I know,” Elgie said. “But you talk to me like I am a one.”

The wind blew. “It's chilly,” said T’Mollek. “Would you like to take a walk?”

“I want you to carry me.”

“I know,” T’Mollek acknowledged. “But you are going to walk beside me. Like a person.”

Elgie smiled. “Okay!”

They walked toward a grove of trees. Elgie approached the tree with intent to climb. She took one look at the branches and turned to T’Mollek. “Carry me up that tree!” she ordered.

“I will not,” T’Mollek calmly replied.

“Carry me!” she said angrily.

“If you want to climb the tree, you can climb it yourself.”

“Noooo!” Elgie whined. “I want you to!”

“You can do it on your own.”

“I can't.”

“You can.”

“I dest need help,” Elgie wheedled.

“You can do it without help,” T’Mollek said firmly but kindly.

“Sometimes a person dest needs help,” Elgie said reasonably.

“Yes,” said T’Mollek. “But this is not one of those times.”

Elgie realized she was getting nowhere with this argument. She considered stubbornly giving up. But she _really_ wanted to climb that tree.

She grabbed the lowest branch with her hands and tried to swing her legs up but failed. She tried again with no success. After the fifth attempt, she walked around to the other side of the branch and noticed a knot there. She put her hands around the branch, used the knot as a foothold, and pulled herself up onto the top of the branch, where she sat beaming.

“You was right!” she cried breathlessly, nearly in tears. “I did it!”

T’Mollek looked at the sweet, motherless child with tenderness and pride as it started to snow. “You certainly did.”


	8. What'd I Miss?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As she waits for the next part of her plan to unfold, T'Mollek receives an unexpected visitor.

### What’d I Miss?

That evening, T’Mollek turned in early. She set her timer for 212 minutes, which was four full sleep cycles. She crawled into bed and pulled the covers close to her chin.

The flurries had stopped but the temperature had plummeted. Her heater was not able to keep up with the cold wind blowing through the walls of the tent. She shivered but soon fell into a deep sleep.

_“I am failing,” T’Mollek said. “I need your help.”_

_“You can do it without help,” a mocking voice said._

_“Sometimes a person just needs help.”_

_“This is not one of those times,” he said. “Look at it from another angle.”_

_“I need resources,” she said. “I need a tricorder. I can't continue to do my job using—”_

There was a knock on her door.

“—stone knives and bear skins,” she mumbled aloud as she woke from her dream. “Hmmmf? Who is it?”

Her locked door opened, causing her heart to skip a beat. Was it Negan? Had he discovered—and revived—Data?

“Is this tent taken?”

T’Mollek took in a sharp breath, but kept her face nonreactive. “Q!” she said.

“May I . . . ?” he asked as a light snow blew in the door around him. He was wearing a woolen navy blue Starfleet-issued pea coat and looking extremely dapper and handsome.

“Come in,” she invited.

He did so hastily, closing the door with some difficulty in the wind.

He regarded her in silence for a few moments, then said, “So. Data, huh? I mean, Jaxon I can understand. The tousled hair, the middle-aged dimples, the beard. But _Data_?”

“What do you know about it?” she snapped, her dander up already.

“Enough,” he said vaguely.

“If you were spying on me . . . then shame on you. But you would also know that nothing happened.”

“Nothing?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“ . . . Nothing enough.”

“Well, that makes no sense.”

She shook her head defensively. “I did what was necessary to locate Data’s deactivation switch. He was going to make a grave error in judgment regarding Negan.”

Q sighed. “So tell me, T'Mata Hari, is it true what they say—big feet, big . . . hard drive?”

“ _Nothing. Happened_.”

“Riiight,” he said lightly. “ _Aaany_ way, other than sleeping with Mr. Robot, what have you been up to?”

“I didn't sleep–!” she started, then scoffed. He really knew how to get her goat. “What are you doing here?”

“I missed you,” he said, sounding sincere for once. “I was worried about you.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up his hands to stop her. “I know, I know. You can take care of yourself. You don't need my protection. You gotta do this on your own. But I wanted to see you. Should I go?” He started to back out, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.

T’Mollek sighed, resigned, and pulled back the blanket for him. He grinned, slipped out of his coat, kicked off his boots, and stripped off his uniform, revealing nineteenth century long woolen underwear complete with a flap in the back.

 _Adorkable_ , she thought automatically, then winced internally with embarrassment.

She rolled over in bed with her back to him, and he got in behind her, spooning her.

T’Mollek let down her stoic guard and gasped, flipping over to face him accusingly. “Your _feet_!”

“It’s cold outside,” he explained mildly. “I’ve been standing sentry all night.”

“I don't need a sentry,” she said, relaxing. “I have everything under control.”

“I know you do. But . . . well, I . . . I just wanted to make sure you were OK.” He lightly touched the scar on her forehead, her visible reminder of the shuttle crash.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

They stared at each other for some time. Finally, he asked, “Why so gloomy, roomie?”

“I am failing,” she said, as she had in her dream. But she stopped short of asking for help.

“I always thought you wanted to fail,” he chided very gently.

She ignored him. “The leader of this colony is slowly murdering the children, and I can’t save them. The two people closest to me in the world are dying or as good as dead. . . .” She hesitated.

“You crashed a Previa and killed your medical team,” he prompted helpfully.

She sighed and continued. “I’ve committed treason. The _Enterprise_ has been destroyed, the Romulans are coming in two days to kill or capture us. I am utterly and completely alone.”

Q rolled over to his back, casually inspecting a fingernail. “I don't know where you're getting your intel, but the _Enterprise_ has not been destroyed. They're orbiting Calagon, just down the road a piece. Minimal casualties, but overall, they're fine.”

She pondered this as she took a deep breath. “That . . . changes everything.”

He suddenly rolled back to face her, resting his head on his fist. He wrinkled his nose and grinned mischievously. “Couldn’t you just kiss me right now?”

She glared at him. “Must you ruin everything?”

“It’s what I do!” he replied with panache. “The _Enterprise_ and her crew are just biding their time until reinforcements can arrive or the Romulans leave, whichever comes first.”

“Do you know how soon reinforcements can be expected?”

“About two weeks.”

T’Mollek was deflated. “They will not arrive in time. The Romulans will be here in two days. They intend to take a little girl, the only one who has not become ill. Negan is terrified of what they will do to her.”

“And you without a dustbuster,” he said lightly. “You _do_ have a lot on your mind, don't you? Have you come to a decision about your little . . . dilemma?”

“I have.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“I do,” she said. “But it is not going as well as I had hoped.”

“Plans seldom do,” he said airily. “Would you like help?”

She considered this. “I honestly don't know.”

“Are you ready for what comes next?”

“I am.”

He gave her a gentle smile and lowered his chin. “Am I distracting you from what must be done?”

She smiled back. “You are.”

“All right,” he said. “I'll let you go. I won't interfere. What will be will be.”  He sat up and put his feet on the floor.

“Q . . .” she said. He turned to her. “Do you know if I will succeed?”

He put his hand on her arm. Simply, sincerely, he answered, “I don't. But I have every faith that you will.”

She put her right hand on the left side of his face, examining all the lines, his mouth, his eyes.

“I thought you weren't allowed to see me again,” she said quietly.

He stroked her cheek fondly. “I've never been very good at following orders.”

“Neither have I,” she said.

“I know.”

She took a deep breath, enjoying this bond. It was arousing but comfortable. She felt this warmth in her heart and in her head. “I can literally feel my brain filling with oxytocin right now.”

“Your pillow talk is so romantic,” he said huskily.

She put her hand on the back of his head and drew him toward her, kissing him softly, then nuzzling his face and hair. She inhaled, then pulled away, regarding him with confusion. “Are you . . . _human_?”

“I'm Q.”

“You smell like you did when you were human,” she murmured.

He shrugged artlessly. “I remembered you liked that.”

That touched her heart more than anything. She kissed him again, deeply this time.

“Oh, you’re the worst kind of trouble there is,” he murmured, looking at her closely.  
  
“What kind is that?” she asked.

“The kind that doesn’t know she’s trouble.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Qman.”

He looked at her with genuine surprise. “Did you just call me a slightly derogatory nickname based on my moniker?”

“Maybe,” she blushed.

He took her hands in his. “Oh, spend the rest of your life with me!”

She smiled and kissed him again in full earnest. He whispered into her ear, “Have you ever made love to a god?

She pulled away and looked at him. “I thought you said you weren’t a god,” she said drily.

He grinned at her. “Just you wait . . .”

***

What transpired next involved a great deal of the touching of fingers—interestingly, Vulcan foreplay was much like full-on Q intercourse. Their lovemaking was a perfect blend of all the cultures and biological imperatives inherent in both their makeup.

The energy that Q emitted entered T’Mollek through her fingertip and coursed in sudden, wavelike, and glorious patterns throughout her body, mind, and soul. There was physical touching, caressing, penetration, rhythms, clutching, breathing, rocking, a sort of lazy swirling, tension, and release. But she couldn’t be certain that it was real and not merely the radiant sensations brought about by their two fingertips touching for–how long? An hour? A second?

But it was unlike anything she had ever experienced.

“Well, whadja think of _that?”_ Q asked, lying back when it was over. “Positively mythological, wasn’t it?”

“How did you . . . how does that work?” she asked dreamily.

“The Q are beings of pure energy,” he explained. “It’s just a matter of placement, intensity, timing . . .”

“But how do you know . . . where and . . . when . . . .”

“I told you. I know you better than you know yourself.”

She considered this. “I want to do the same for you.”

He smiled. “You already do.”

She sighed. “You are . . . quite an entity,” she agreed.

“Well, you struck me as a woman who’d never been satisfied.”

She blushed, then asked, “Would you like the inside?”

“I'm sorry, what?”

“Do you want to sleep against the wall?” she murmured sleepily. “I know you like to be nestled.”

Q smiled, immensely touched. He kissed the top of her head. “I’m fine where I am.”

She relaxed and settled in but looked up at him past heavily-lidded eyes. “Are you real or a dream?”

“What do you think?” he asked.

“I think it would be just like you to be a dream,” she said wryly.

Q smiled and whispered, “Oh, shut up and sleep.” He brushed his hand over her forehead and her eyes fell immediately closed.

***

Elgie couldn’t turn her brain off. She was honestly trying to sleep. She wasn’t being stubborn. She just had too many things in her brain.

“DZAXON!” she called at the top of her lungs.

Negan came to her room and sat down in the chair next to her bed. “Yes, Elgie.”

“What's that sound outside?”

“Just locusts,” Negan said, stroking her hair.

“Will they hurt me?”

“Of course not, my one.”

“Will they make me sick and dead?”

“Now, why would you think such a thing?”

“I don't know.”

“Go to sleep now,” he said, standing up and giving her a kiss on the forehead.

“Can I sleep with you?”

“No, you need to be brave,” he said. “Nothing will hurt you.”

“Can the locusses get in my room?”

“No, your windows are locked. You’re safe. Nothing can harm you.”

“OK.”

“Do you trust me?”

“I guess so,” she said skeptically.

“Good enough. Go to sleep. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”


	9. Engage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years of training and preparation come to a head for T'Mollek as the next part of her plan comes to devastation fruition. Negan prepares to exact his revenge.

### Engage

T’Mollek woke with a start when her timer went off just past midnight. She looked to the space next to her in her cot, and realized there _was_ no space next to her. It was a single cot—barely enough room for just her. She sighed. Sleep deprivation had caused her to have more dreams than usual. The sexual tension with Negan, not to mention the near-miss with Data, had really messed with her psyche.

She got out of bed and got dressed in her uniform. Even though one sleeve had been torn off, it offered more warmth than her other clothes. She wrapped her neck in Negan’s red scarf and put on the black leather jacket, took a resolute breath, and opened her door.

***

Elgie still couldn’t sleep. She lay in bed listening to the locusses and feeling sorry for Jaxon for not understanding their true danger. She should tell him, but saying the words out loud would make them realer. But she could at least ask him again could she sleep in his bed. Him sleeping in her bed would be good, too, but it would be more dangerouser in her bed, for some reason. She didn’t know why, but she _knew it_.

She got out of bed and walked to her door. But before she could turn the knob, she remembered him telling her to be brave. She knew he was brave. She knew T’Mollek was brave. She knew Data was brave. She wasn’t sure about Del. He always seemed a little scared and shaky. But she wanted to be like Dr. T’Mollek. Or Dr. Nameless. Where was Dr. Nameless, anyway? She looked through her drawers. Nothing. She looked under her bed. Nope. She remembered her nature pack. Dr. Nameless liked nature, so maybe she was in there looking for bugs.

She walked to her backpack and unzipped the top. She heard a rustling sound from inside. Had she left an insect in there? She didn’t think so. Data and T’Mollek and Jaxon always made her let the bugs go. She opened the backpack and peered inside.

The Screaming Ghost Creature of Vulcan flew out and hit her right in her face! It screamed at her—the screaming got louder and louder as it flied at her. She wasn’t sure how she knew it got louder and louder because it happened so fast, like---WHOOOOSH! More like, SCREEEEEE! But somehow it also sounded slow, like it was quieter and then really loud at the point it hit her on her face.

She let out a loud, loud scream that hurted her throat. She was frozen for a second but then flied out the door to Jaxon’s room. He met her halfway and she ran into his arms, sobbing, shrieking, hyperventilating, red-faced, tear-streaked. Her face was anguished, contorted, and terror-strucken.

He held her tight, his long arms wrapped all the way around her, his hand clutching the back of her head, protecting every part of her as best he could.

He could tell this was no regliar nightmare.

***

The wind howled in T’Mollek’s ears. Her teeth, as per usual, chattered loudly. The air smelled of the snow that hadn’t yet begun to fall. Her hands were tucked inside the sleeves of Negan’s leather jacket. When she reached his porch, she slowly and carefully climbed the steps to his door. Shivering, she reached into the inner pocket of the jacket and pulled out the small electronic detonator Del had provided her with. It was the same type they had used to break into the second floor of the hospital.

She attached the device to Negan’s front door. She pressed her freezing hands to her ears to block out the sound of the wind. She listened via her earbuds for an auditory clue that would indicate the best moment to set it off.

She didn’t need the earbuds to hear that sweet girl’s terrorized scream from inside her closed bedroom. The sound traveled to the front porch and through the howling wind.

T’Mollek quickly pressed the button and the lock blew off the front door. She pulled her bone knife out of her boot and listened for the sound of Negan coming to the door to investigate the noise. However, Elgie continued to scream, and Negan ran to comfort her. He carried her to her room and sat on the chair next to her bed, holding her, singing to her.

_Speed thee, my arrow, swift as a flying dove._

The first part of the plan was complete. The wind momentarily slowed and T’Mollek took the opportunity to carefully and swiftly open the door and sneak into the house, closing the door behind her. She crouched behind the side of the couch and listened, holding the knife in front of her for protection in case Negan caught her. She knew that, despite Elgie’s presence, Negan would not hesitate to kill her for breaking into his house in the middle of the night. Her teeth were chattering so hard she had to bite down on her lips to keep them from making noise. The metallic taste of her copper blood helped her focus on the next part of her plan.

***

It wasn’t long before the first wave of vomiting hit.

Between the distressing sensation of the vomiting itself and the knowledge that it was the first symptom of the deadly disease that had struck the compound, Elgie became hysterical and inconsolable.

“You’re fine, you’re fine,” Negan was telling her. “Sometimes our tummies get upset when we get scared. You’re just fine.”

Crouching, T’Mollek crept stealthily past Elgie’s room completely unseen and unheard. Negan’s leather jacket was well-broken-in and she was able to move soundlessly. She tiptoed down the hall near the wall, taking shorter or longer steps as the creaks in the floor warranted, deftly following the path she had watched Negan taking the night he thought she was passed out drunk on the couch.

The door to the office was open, and when she entered, she saw that his bedroom was as well. She entered quickly and made a beeline for his closet, which she had located the night she had given Negan a bath.

Through her earbud, she heard Negan tell Elgie he would get her a wet washcloth, and he squeaked his way into the room.

She hoped the tones on the keypad matched those on the outside of the office. She had memorized each number’s tones the day Elgie had pressed each of them in turn, setting off the alarm. She pressed the numbers that corresponded to the tune Negan—and her mother—had sung to their little girls.

_Pi Beta Phi._

By the time he reached the room, T’Mollek was already hiding in the closet with the door closed behind her.

Negan entered, went into the bathroom, and wet a washcloth for the little one. After an hour, she had calmed down. T’Mollek knew that the initial vomiting would be light. Negan had probably managed to catch it in his hands or in the waste basket. She also knew that what was to come would not be so pleasant.

Negan stayed by Elgie’s bedside, as T’Mollek had suspected he would. In the closet, she found the black box Elgie had mentioned. She lifted the hinged lid. Inside were two tricorders—hers and she presumed Dr. Hall’s—and an old black and white printed photograph of her mother holding her as a toddler. She set the bone knife in the box and picked up the photograph. She clearly remembered the beach where this photo had been taken. It was on Lake Michigan in Chicago on Earth, and her parents were between missions. They had played on the beach, swam, and eaten vanilla ice cream. It was the only occasion she could remember them all being together as a family. Typically they would trade off assignments, one of them taking care of her nearby while the other worked.

While she was bathed in this memory, she heard Negan quietly approach the bedroom again. She flicked off her light and held her breath. She heard him slowly crawl into bed and pull the covers around him. She breathed again.

She waited several minutes until she heard the steady sound of his breathing transitioning into snores. Then she waited another half an hour. In the darkness, T’Mollek exited the closet carefully, her knife in her hand. She stood over his bed in the moonlight, watching him sleep, knife poised to carry out T’Sharr’s orders. She thought about her parents and how he had sat in safety, heavily guarded, while his hired assassins did their job, leaving her an orphan. Of the tens of thousands of helpless Vulcans, dead at his hands. Of Doston and Adiv and Dr. Hall and Del and the others. She tightened her grip on the knife and stepped toward him.

Elgie stirred, startling T’Mollek. He had brought the little girl to his bed so that he could keep a careful watch over her.

 _Of course. But it’s better this way._ She had almost forgotten that she needed Negan alive. How had she forgotten this change of plan? Was murder so ingrained in her that she would forsake all logic just so she could carry out T’Sharr’s mission?

She dizzily crept backward into the closet and closed the door to wait for the inevitable.

Soon, Elgie began to groan. “Dzaxon, my tummy hurts,” she mumbled.

Negan sat up immediately and put his hand on her head, feeling for fever. “Where does it hurt?” he asked, attempting to make his voice sound unconcerned. And failing.

“In my tummy!” she said. “Here!” She sat up, cried out, and threw up everything she had eaten that day. When the retching stopped, she cried, “The locusses made me sick! They’re taking my soul out of my tummy!” She held up her hands. “Are my hands black? Are they black?”

“No, they’re not black, sweetheart,” Negan said flipping on the light. He held her hands up to show her.

Her wrists and palms were speckled with dark purple.

“They’re black! They’re black!” she shrieked. “I’m dunna get dead! I’m dunna get dead!”  Her words were almost incomprehensible and her voice was already hoarse from screaming and vomiting.

T’Mollek forced herself to block out the words at the same time she cursed herself to hell.

Negan grabbed the little girl by the shoulders. “What have you had to eat and drink today?”

“Dest pitnit foods,” she sobbed. “Sammiches and grapes and water and a-gu-la-la from the garden, but it was too spicy.” Perhaps from the thought of the piquant arugula, she vomited again.

“She gave you yucky water from the well, or bottled water?” Negan asked tensely.

“It wasn’t yucky,” she whispered, almost too exhausted to answer.

“Was it from the big fridge or the little fridge?”

Elgie cried weakly. “I don’t know . . . I don’t know . . .”

“It’s OK, my one,” he said. “C’mon. We’ll get you cleaned up. You’re gonna be fine.” He gathered her up in the blanket and carried her to the bathroom.

“P-p-promise?” she asked, shivering.

“I absolutely promise,” he answered, his voice loving but tense.

He was gonna kill that bitch.

With Negan and Elgie in the bathroom and the sound of the bath water drowning out other any sounds in the bedroom, T’Mollek took the opportunity to search the closet more thoroughly. She saw the gun and the knife and the Louisville Slugger. But she was looking for something else. An access point to the basement. She felt along the back wall of the closet, pushing aside hanging clothes. She tapped lightly on the wall in several places until she heard a hollow thump. She felt a divide in the wall and pulled the trap door open. She flipped her pocket light on and shone it down the steps into a crawl space beneath the house, replacing the trap door behind her as best she could.

She made her way down the steps carefully. When she got to the bottom, the ceiling was low and the floor was dirt. The other half of the basement was finished but this was merely a crawl space. A wall separated the two sections.

***

She shined her light around her, astounded by what she saw. So astounded, in fact, that she bumped her head into a joist and dropped her light. It switched off when it hit the floor. She pressed a hand to her head in irritation and felt for the light in the pitch black. The darkness, the low ceiling, the bulkiness of the leather jacket, the noise she had just made, and the danger overhead caused her to feel suffocated. Her breathing started to quicken.

 _Steady as she goes_.

She found the flashlight and, still crouching, she switched it on. As she held her hand up to look around again, her bulky leather sleeve knocked over a glass beaker from a low table. It shattered loudly.

_Goddammit._

The beaker had brushed against a neighboring beaker, which now teetered precariously on the edge of the table. She pushed it away from the edge and shone her light across the table that was against the wall. A row of beakers, burners, and small gardening tools covered it. There was a row of plants in various stages of growth in a trough against the wall. Asteria plants, just as she had suspected.

A gas mask and the partially used miyo root sat on the table next to the cut plants. She pocketed the root. Spores covered the table like dust. The spores had been stirred up by her disturbance and hung heavy in the air.

She hastily covered her nose and mouth with her sleeve. She could not reveal her position. She fought the urge to cough—the autonomic response designed to drive the spores out of her lungs and possibly save her life.

***

“All right, in we go, sweetheart,” Negan was saying softly. She heard splashing and the sound of Elgie’s shivering, “vuh-vuh-vuh-vuh-vuh.”

“There we go,” Negan was saying. “Nice and warm, huh?”

She just continued to shiver.

“So tell me more about this picnic,” he said with measured calm. “Did Dr. T’Mollek bring bottled water from her tent, or . . . .?”

“No, she gave me a bottle of water from the hops-ital.”

Tensely, but still smiling, Negan asked, “Dr. T’Mollek used water from the hospital well?”

“Uh-huh. W-E-L. That spells ‘well water’!” she said proudly.

“Oh, that’s very good spelling,” he praised her, and she smiled shyly.  “Did you tell her that we don’t like the hospital well water? Because it tastes yucky?”

The warmth of the bath and the compliment of her spelling ability had raised Elgie’s spirits. “Yes,” she informed him, “but she said it would be OK and to tell you it would be OK. And I tasted it and it was OK. It didn’t taste yucky at all. It tasted good. She said I could drink it all the time if I wanted to.”

“Oh she did, did she?” Negan said softly, brushing her hair.

There was a faint sound like the smashing of glass in the distance.

“What was that?” Elgie asked.

“Just the wind, sweetheart,” he said, recognizing that the sound had come from beneath them. “Let’s get out of the tub now, OK?” He helped her out of the bath. “Here’s your bathrobe and a nice warm towel for your head. There we go. Now you hop back into bed—your _own_ bed—and I’ll be right back to finish brushing. I have to go take care of something.”

Elgie’s mood switched instantaneously for the worse. “Noooo!” she cried in anguish. “Don’t go! I just want you to hold me!”

“Sweetheart, I have to go fix something downstairs.”

Elgie sobbed large tears, her heart utterly broken. She was all alone in the universe. “P’ease, stay with me! P’eeeeease?”

Negan picked her up, completely relenting. “All right. All right,” he said. “I’ll stay right here in this bed, all night with you. I won’t fall asleep. I’ll stay up all night and watch you, and in the morning, when you’re feeling better, I’ll go downstairs and take care of what I need to do.”

***

T’Mollek had held her breath and willed her lung function to stop for as long as she could while she listened to Negan and Elgie’s conversation. She looked up the shortened staircase to the doorway into Negan’s closet. It was still closed and she saw the light switch on as he got Elgie settled into his bed to brush and dry her hair.

T’Mollek frantically searched the crawlspace for an exit or a connecting door to the laundry room on the other side of the wall. There were no windows or doors that led to the ground level. She had already noticed that from the outside. This crawlspace had apparently been built in secret, as it included no access to the ground level.

The space was unbearably cramped, and T’Mollek was losing her battle against claustrophobia. She had also begun to experience dizziness from a lack of oxygen. She had been holding her breath for entirely too long. She buried her face in her jacket sleeve and took a deep, nearly involuntary breath. Her body was wracked with an uncontrollable barking cough.

In her ear, she faintly heard Elgie ask, “What’s that noise?”

“Just an animal underneath the house,” Negan said, eagerly adding, “I'll go take care of it . . . .”

Elgie chuckled lightly through her post-sob hiccoughs. “But, Dzaxon!” she said in an amused, almost patronizing way. “Animals don't lusually cough!”

“No,” he agree, “they usually don't. But that sounded a little like a sick bark, didn’t it? Don’t you worry, I'm gonna go down right now and kill it.”

“Noooo!” Elgie begged. “Don't go kill it! Stay here with me first!”

“Just rest, sweet girl. Let me take care of it. Otherwise its coughing’ll keep you up all night. And it’s caused you enough trouble tonight as it is.”

T’Mollek looked to the floor at the broken beaker. The bottom was still basically intact. It would not be easy or safe to hold onto but the jagged edge might buy her some time if she could manage to slice one of his eyes or reach his jugular.

She held it in her hand and continued looking around her. In the corner opposite the stairs she noticed a large, solid steel shelving unit. It was painted black and it had blended into the background, but now that T’Mollek’s eyes had adjusted to the dark, she could see it clearly.

She put her hands on either side of the unit and tentatively lifted. Mercifully, it was empty (aside from several year’s worth of dust) and she was able to pick it up and move it away from the wall without making too much noise. She estimated it weighed at least 500 pounds. She had intended to hide behind it, but instead, she saw a one-foot round spot of darkness in the wall near the floor.

She heard Negan in the closet, moving boxes out of the way.

She dropped to her knees and felt the dark spot with her hands. It was a hole. An animal’s den? A secret tunnel? There was only way to find out. She was too big to fit into the hole on her hands and knees, so she dropped to her belly and tried to shimmy inside. She couldn’t fit. Correction: she could fit, but the bulky jacket prohibited her arms from moving.

The door was being pried open upstairs.

She removed the jacket and left it behind just inside the tunnel’s opening, hopefully out of sight. She belly-crawled through the hole and disappeared into a blackness she could actually feel. She didn’t have the time nor the physical space to pull the jacket in with her. Her only chance was to crawl as fast as she could and hope Negan’s gun jammed before he could shoot this proverbial fish in a barrel.

Through her earpiece, she heard the sound of his feet on the creaky staircase. She had only seconds to live.

_Please let this tunnel curve._

She had actually prayed.

“P’eeeeeease!”

She blinked in the darkness. Had she said that? No, that had been Elgie, who had started to vomit again.

“Fuck me,” Negan barked and went back upstairs to the little girl.

 _He loves her more than he hates me_. T’Mollek couldn’t imagine anyone loving anyone that much.

She heard Negan replace the wall in the closet, lock the latch, and drag something heavy in front of it. She doubted it was necessary. When would she have the opportunity to climb back to the house and try to escape through his bedroom?

Regardless, there was no turning back, so she crawled on, still able to get reception on the wireless receiver.

“Why are you dragging that safe into the closet?” Elgie asked, her curiosity overriding her disappointment that Jaxon wasn’t holding her right now.

“Shhhh,” Negan said breathlessly. “Don’t worry about it. That animal will never get to you again.”

“What do you mean again?” Elgie asked with newfound worry. “Is it the locus’?”

“No, no,” he said hastily, “just—”

He was interrupted by another round of vomiting from the bed.

“Make it stop,” she begged through her sobs. “P’ease make it stop! Why is dis happening to me?”

“Shhh,” he whispered. “The minute the sun comes up, I am gonna go down there and kill that thing. And you’ll be safe with me forever.”

***

As wretched as Elgie’s physical and emotional condition was, it had saved T’Mollek’s life. She continued to crawl. The tunnel had been crudely and hastily dug. It was uneven—narrower or lower in some spots, wider or higher in others. For the most part, she had to duck her head so it faced down as she crawled, mostly on her belly. She could feel her shirt and pants tearing and she felt her skin tear along with it as she brushed against stones or buried twigs and roots. She couldn't stretch her neck muscles. Her shoulder and back muscles ached. Every fiber of her being wanted to stand up. She calculated that her chances of ever standing up again were 21%.

_“Show your weakness,” T’Sharr had said. “Be a weak Vulcan. A weak human. Be malleable. Be not a threat. Show not your cunning. Be predictable. Gain his trust. When you have that . . . that is when you strike.”_

She had failed at almost all of T’Sharr’s directives. And now she was at her weakest, most non-threatening, least cunning . . . crawling on her belly in the dirt toward uncertainty.

 _“He would kill to protect these children,” Troi had said._ How right she had been.

T’Mollek surmised that the tunnel had been dug during the Romulan invasion as an escape route. She hoped it had been successful. She waited at any moment to be stopped by a stockpile of two-year-old corpses that had died before the tunnel had been completed.

She couldn’t trust her sense of direction but she believed she was heading in a somewhat southerly direction, toward the beach.

She realized she hadn’t coughed in several minutes. The thought of coughing made her cough. _So human_ , she thought. She once again willed her lungs to slow, her pulse to slow. She carried on.

***

T’Sharr had nearly disowned T’Mollek twice.

The first time was when she passed the Starfleet psychology test—the capstone to her Academy education—not once but twice. The psych evaluation pinpointed a student’s deepest fear and presented the student, usually unexpectedly, with that fear to test how they handled it.

T’Sharr had instructed her to fail the test in order to appear weak and frightened.

T’Mollek had attempted to convince her professors that her deepest fear was explosions and confined spaces. She fully expected at any moment during her last few weeks of training to be buried alive in an earthquake. Again.

It had been one of her earliest childhood memories. She couldn’t recall exactly where or when it had happened, but only that it had left her with physical and mental scars her entire life. Her leg had shattered and the bone could not be healed. It was clumsily replaced with an artificial implant but she had kept the broken bone and carved a serrated knife out of it at the age of nine. She didn’t tell her parents. They wouldn’t have understood. She knew she would one day need to protect them. She hid the weapon in a blowfish carving she had also created in school.

Her psych test had _actually_ revealed that her deliberate underperformance throughout her Academy career would be called into question. Her professors advised her she would not be given the test and that she was instead being expelled. Terrified, she demanded a second chance.

In doing so, she had actually passed the test they had set for her—she stood up for herself and her abilities. Typically, passing the test meant graduation—but in T’Mollek’s case, she was simply forced to repeat her last year.

“You have dishonored your family with your pride,” T’Sharr had rebuked her.

“It was not pride,” she countered. “Logic dictated I defend myself or face expulsion. They knew I was holding back.”

“Have I not trained you to deceive without straying from the truth?”

In fact, she had. But T’Mollek always had a bit of the rebel spirit—even with T’Sharr’s intensive mental training. Not to mention a healthy amount of pride.

The second time T’Sharr had nearly disowned her was when T’Mollek had balked at accepting this mission. T’Sharr had pulled strings so T’Mollek was stationed on Starbase 11, along the Neutral Zone, near the tri-planet system of Algalon, Betagon, and Calagon. She also knew that Negan, the man who had killed T’Mollek’s parents, had been sentenced to the penal colony of Algalon for creating and profiting from the Vulcan plague which killed tens of thousands.

T’Mollek had rotted away on Starbase 11 for twenty years waiting for the next phase of the mission—a chance opportunity to travel to Algalon, seek out Negan, and kill him.

“You taught me that killing—whether man or beast—is wrong,” T’Mollek had argued. “You taught me to bury my rage, my passion, my fear, my love. And now you ask me to turn my back on everything we hold so vital?”

“Yes.”

“If I allow those emotions back in, how will I control them?”

“Thou must find a way. Thou must let him believe he hath won thee. Thou shall be degraded. Thy honor decimated. Thy self does not matter. Thy spirit does not matter. Thy body does not matter. Only that which must be done.”

“You want me to give my body to the man who murdered my parents so that I can murder him? Why?”

“Your questioning concerns me,” T’Sharr said, gazing more intensely at T’Mollek. “You must only obey. Obey me. Obey him. And when he believes that he hath broken you, when he believes that you are his and that he controls you . . . that is when you must fulfill your destiny.”

“I will be arrested. My punishment will be severe.”

“Your act will be justified. Your punishment has no meaning.”

“What if I fail? What if I am not strong enough to control my emotions?”

“Then you will be indeed broken. Neither fit for Vulcan nor Earth. Lost to all. Lost to yourself. Unable to control your passions . . . ye shall go mad.”

“And if I refuse?”

T’Sharr stared at her coldly. “It will be as if your mother had never borne a child.”


	10. FuQed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the most explicitly-titled chapter yet, T'Mollek attempts to escape certain death at Negan's hands.

### FuQed

T’Mollek was going to die alone. She would even be happy to see Commander Riker at this point. She wondered if Q would find her body and bring it back to her family—not that any of them would care.

Then she remembered that her recent encounter with Q had only been a dream. Riker was dead, as she soon would be. The realization nearly made her stop crawling and give up all hope.

She continued on a few more meters and her hands scraped against a massive root. She knew this tree. It was the large one roughly half a mile from the compound. She was at the cliffs. But her tunnel ended there at the tree. Whoever had dug the tunnel had apparently been captured or killed before they could complete it.

She would either have to reverse her crawl back to the house or start digging upward.

Her hands, knees, elbows, and stomach were bleeding, and her wrists and forearms itched. She could feel raised bumps on them, which she guessed were black or purple. However, she became aware that her breathing seemed to be coming a bit more easily. There was suddenly more oxygen in this space.

As she contemplated her next move, she coughed. The coughing became uncontrollable. Her head felt like it might split open at the temples. She pulled the miyo root out of her pocket. She bit off a piece and chewed. It was bitter but she hoped it would help stave off any of the poison she had ingested.

Her lungs were in trouble regardless.

She felt the ground beneath her shift. The root system of the tree had been eaten away by rot due to ground water. Where the giant roots once were, there was only space in the softened dirt. The earth had been disturbed by the movement of her crawling, (and possibly her coughing) and a sinkhole was rapidly developing.

T’Mollek felt the familiar helpless slipping downward into darkness, pain, oblivion, and certain death. Only this time there was no one to pull her to safety.

_Out in the twilight, stood I so true and brave._

In the pitch black, she grasped for whatever handhold she could find. She slid rapidly as the soft dirt cascaded around her, pouring onto her, past her, through her.

She fell a dozen meters and her already bloody hand caught on a jagged root, slicing into her skin, but stopping her descent. With her other hand, she unwrapped the scarf around her neck and slung it over a loop of root. She tugged gently and it held fast. She climbed as quickly as she could, knowing the tree itself would likely be pulled down into this sinkhole as well.

She had climbed halfway to where the tunnel had emptied into the now growing sinkhole when she felt the tree itself, through the root she clung to, begin to shudder. Now propelled by adrenaline, panic, and flights of angels, she fairly flew up the root.

Her head hit the bottom of another root cluster and she reached with one hand, determining she could climb over this new obstacle, using the scarf to pull her up. Her feet gained purchase on this cluster and aided in her ascent.

The tunnel was not far below the surface—perhaps seven feet. Just a little deeper than a grave. As the tree slowly sank into the ground, the moonlight illuminated her path and she saw the opening of the tunnel even as it crumbled. She leapt across the gap that had been created by the ever-widening hole to the opening of the tunnel and held on by her hands. She could feel the earth giving way and she clawed her way up and into the space.

She was lying flat on her stomach, completely still, in the tunnel—facing the direction she had come from, Negan’s house. Now that the moonlight allowed her to see inside the tunnel, she saw a shadow above her. She felt with her hand and was relieved to feel an opening she hadn’t noticed before. When the tunnel diggers had been stopped at the tree, they had indeed rerouted their path.

She climbed up the new tunnel and into more darkness. With newfound hope—and the concern that the sinkhole could continue to spread—she crawled a little faster.

She coughed loudly into her hand and saw blood.

She stopped crawling, realizing if she could see blood in her hand, there was light. She looked up and saw the end of the tunnel.

She exited the tunnel at the base of the cave at the water.  She clambered out of the cave and onto the beach, pausing for a brief moment to stretch her legs and roll her neck in all directions. Then she headed back to the compound, exhausted, bleeding, coughing, sweating, shivering, and aching. Snow had accumulated quickly and she trudged through it calf-deep as it continued to fall thick and heavy.

As she approached the compound, her coughing once more reached the level of uncontrollable. The icy wind howled loudly in her ears and her hair whipped in her face. She had lost the scarf in the sinkhole. She clutched her arms around herself, her short-sleeved shirt offering no resistance against the cold. She hunched her shoulders against the wind, hoping the sound of the gales would cover those of her coughing.

Negan’s house was not fully lit but she could see a faint light in his living room window, which faced her tent. She could see his silhouette at the window. She stopped dead in her tracks, stood up straight, and looked at him. Stoically, she raised a shivering hand in acknowledgement. Perhaps he had truly thought it was an animal making noise in the crawl space. Perhaps he didn't suspect her—even though she was now outside, walking from the beach in her shirtsleeves, coughing her lungs out.

Negan stared at her for a moment then lifted something up to the window. It was his jacket.

She nodded in acquiescence and shuffled resignedly toward her tent.

Come dawn, Negan would be coming to kill her.

***

T’Mollek stumbled into her tent, her body shaking uncontrollably with cold, her teeth nearly breaking from chattering so hard. She closed the door and was about to collapse on her bed when she saw—or rather hallucinated—Q.

_Ye shall go mad._

“Are y-y-you here or are you n-n-n-not here?” she said, her profound irritation warming her.

“I thought you needed some space, but . . . I just wanted to make sure you were OK.” He stood up and held his arms out to her.

“I am fine,” she said curtly, brushing him off and wiping the dried blood from her lips.

“Obviously,” he said to her back.

“Admittedly, I had hoped to get through the night without quite so much bloodshed and internal organ damage,” she said as she crawled into her cot. It was large, plush, and luxurious with thick soft pillows, thick fluffy red soft blankets and setting against a cushioned wall, where she could be nestled.

“This not my cot,” she said simply, gathering the blankets around her.

“No, it isn’t,” he acquiesced.

“I'm too tired to argue,” she murmured. Her head sank deeply into the pillow. She yawned deeply and rather loudly. Q smiled.

After a moment, Q asked expectantly, “So . . . ?”

“You were right,” she mumbled and then coughed. “I had to go with my gut.”

“I don’t follow.”

“You don’t even remember the advice you gave me in my other dream?” She coughed. “Please wake me just before dawn. Or if you hear anyone coming to murder me.”

“You should take something for that cough.”

“I have it under contr—” Her own lungs interrupted her.

Q sat next to her and brushed his hand over her forehead and eyes. “Shut up and go to sleep,” he whispered.

She fell instantly into a deep, calm, coughless sleep.

***

T’Mollek awoke on her own the next morning on her hard cot. Alone. She got up and went outside. She looked toward Negan’s house for a while in the silence until she heard screaming by the beach. She ran there to find Doston standing in front of an empty grave, looking down.

“Doston?” she asked incredulously.

He looked up at her and then jumped into the hole.

“NO!” she screamed and ran toward him. She knelt down beside the grave and he was sinking into black water. Light reflected off the ripples like stars.

There was an explosion in the stars and she felt the souls of the entire _Enterprise_ crew and their families leave this realm. She put her hand in to save whoever she could, but her wrist was grasped by the black tentacle of a giant sea squid. It pulled her in, but instead of water, she fell into an empty grave. The ground caved in and she was trapped under brick and mortar. Her chest was compressed and she couldn’t breathe.

Her mother's hand reached down, and she grasped it. When she was pulled to safety, she saw that she was holding Negan’s gloved hand.

"You need help. You’re so weak. So frightened. Not like your parents. And you're dying. Let me help you."

He leaned toward her sensuously and she was drawn to his lips. He placed his mouth on hers and she felt herself floating and sinking at the same time. She was so comfortable and felt so safe. She was falling asleep. With a jolt she realized that if she fell asleep, she would never wake up. He was sucking the life from her body, but she was so relaxed—for the first time in months. Her lungs were useless, but it didn’t matter. She just wanted to fully submit to the relaxation, the freedom from responsibility and making choices, from life and death decisions, from pain, from failure.

She heard her own voice shouting, "T'Mollek! Wake up!"

She opened her eyes and she was in Q's embrace. He pulled away from her and smirked. "Doston's gone!" he gloated.

She looked back at the grave and the earth was mounded on top of the hole—but just barely, just a small mound of dirt was displaced, as if covering a tiny body, a toddler. Or a doll. In fact, as she stared at it, the earth was actually concave. It was sinking. She reached her hand into the dirt and pulled out Dr. Nameless.

She had T’Mollek’s face.

“Did you hear me, Molly?” Q shouted urgently. “Doston's gone!”

T’Mollek felt her body rising from the ground and the sky brightening.


	11. 11 O'Clock Number: Showtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negan and T'Mollek engage in a fight to the finish.

## Eleven O’Clock Number

###  Showtime

Q was nudging her. "It’s almost dawn. Molly, can you hear me?"

He remembered what she had said about organ damage. He had been studying up on Vulcan physiology since the Continuum had put her on his agenda, and he knew their method of self-healing. They went into a deep trance and sometimes had to be awakened forcibly. He slapped her sharply across the face.

She opened her eyes and saw Q leaning over her. He touched her face, where he had slapped her.

“You are so hot,” he said.

“Q, please,” she said in disgust, “this is not the time for—”

“No, I mean you're burning up with fever.”

T’Mollek realized she was sweating, shivering, and still having a hard time breathing. She had inhaled too much of the processed pollen in the basement. Q had awakened her before she had fully healed herself, but she knew it had been necessary. She stumbled out of bed. The dried blood on her knees stuck to her shredded black uniform pants. She pulled the fabric away from her skin with her bloody, scraped hands.

She shivered involuntarily and wrapped her arms around herself as she left her tent.

“I told you to pack a sweater,” he muttered, following her out.

They stood in front of her tent and watched Negan’s house. After an all-too-short moment, the front door swung open and Negan came barreling toward her.

She wasn’t sure if this was part of her hallucination, her fever dream, or reality. She decided, for the sake of argument, to go with reality.

“I need your help,” she began urgently.

“It’s already done,” he said immediately, his eyes trained on Negan, who they both now saw was carrying T’Mollek’s bone knife.

She tapped her comm badge. “O'Reilly to _Enterprise_.”

Picard’s glorious stentorian voice washed over her. “ _Enterprise_ here. T’Mollek, where the hell are you?”

Q really did know her better than she knew herself.

“I need this channel open, radio silence.”

She could only imagine the scene. The exchange of bemused looks, the bridge crew taken aback by her terseness and authority. Riker was probably opening his mouth to question her, but Picard would put up a hand to silence him.

He trusted her.

_He shouldn’t._

Negan was so close she could hear him growling.

“OK, so we’re doing this,” Q muttered, speedily backing away.

Negan raised the knife over his head as he reached T’Mollek.

“You fuckin’ poisoned my daughter!” Negan bellowed, taking a wild swipe at her face.

She blocked the swipe with her arm and swung around, not even surprised to hear the admission. “What’s your name?” she asked, goading him into a confession.

He lunged again, slicing her bare arm. “You poisoned Elgie.”

“With what? I only gave her bottled water.”

“That water you gave her had a lethal dose.”

He must have increased the asteria level in the water in anticipation of the coming Romulan invasion. “What’s your real name?” she demanded.

“Jaxon Traegar, you stupid fuckin’ clown.” He came toward her again.

She pushed him away. “The analysis of the water, blood, and tissues showed no sign of asteria.”

“You knew I gave you clean samples,” he said as his knife sliced into her cheek.

His next charge was met with a sharp kick to his wrist, and the knife was knocked from his hand. However, he kicked the falling knife with his heel, it flipped into the air, and he caught it by the handle. It was a slick move—his signature move.

An instant before he caught the knife, T’Mollek punched him and he fell to the ground. “Why did you poison the children?”

“Because they're better off dead,” he said, getting to his feet.

T’Mollek kicked him in the testicles and his knees buckled. “Like my parents?”

He groaned, still on his knees. “Your father was an accident. And the bomb was supposed to be a diversion.”

“A diversion for what?”

“So I could take the baby,” he whispered, his eyes closing. He seemed about to pass out.

T’Mollek hesitated a moment. She took a step closer to him. “What baby?”

Through slitted eyes, Negan saw her hesitation and gave her a swift and frankly unnecessary punch to the nose. All at once his right knee had pinned her chest and his knife was raised for the kill.

“I didn’t want to poison those kids; I had to,” he said, moving his knee of her chest for a better striking range. “But you . . . you vindictive little bitch, I will kill with pleasure.”

“Did you get all that, Captain?” T’Mollek asked.

“I did,” said Picard.

Negan, shocked to hear the Captain’s voice, bellowed in rage, lifting the knife to strike her down. From her prone position, she grabbed onto his extended arm with both hands, swung herself into the air, and kicked him in the face. He stumbled backward. She landed on her back again. He stood over her and raised the knife to plunge it into her neck. As it came down, she blocked the knife blade with her forearm, cutting herself to the bone, and with her other hand, reached up to his neck to administer the nerve pinch, dropping him instantly onto her.

T’Mollek coughed with the impact and shoved him off herself as Q ran to help.

“Captain, have security prepared to received ‘Jaxon Traegar’ in the brig,” T’Mollek said, eyeing Q, whom she now realized was not a fever-induced hallucination. “Q will be delivering him along with a bone knife Traegar attempted to kill me with. Have Dr. Crusher analyze the knife for traces of blood. . . .  Have Commander Riker assemble a landing party to investigate this . . . apparent asteria poison lab in Traegar’s basement. It is . . . evidently accessible through . . . what is presumably a hidden entrance in his closet. I will see to the children.”

Q raised an eyebrow at T’Mollek’s halting speech, then slipped into her tent momentarily.

“Yes, Doctor,” Picard said. Then more softly he added, “T'Mollek . . . are you all right?”

“I will be fine, Captain. Thank you for your concern. O'Reilly out.”

Q exited her tent, strips of ripped pillow case in his hand. “Well, if _you_ aren’t Kirk, Spock, and McCoy all rolled into one,” he said, grasping the torn fabric from the shoulder of her shirt in his hand. He tried to make his voice sound mocking but didn’t quite succeed.

She scoffed at what she recognized to be a thinly veiled compliment.

“You _let_ him cut you,” he said more quietly, wrapping her cut arms. “You could have disabled him from the beginning. Why didn’t you?” He reached a hand toward her bleeding face.

She held up her own hand to block him. “Do _not_ heal me,” she said firmly.

He held his hands up and shook his head. “I wouldn't dream of it,” he said, a little offended. Then he leaned in and whispered into her ear, “Don’t die, Tamale. I want you to live.” He gave her a light kiss on her uncut cheek.

T’Mollek stumbled weakly and coughed.

“You sure you're—?”

“I am fine,” she said firmly. “Go. Before he comes to.”

Q fixed her with a half-grin. “Unnecessary stoicism has never been more attractive.”

She gave him a wry look, her eyes almost twinkling. She would never admit this to anyone, but she had missed his snarky banter. “Thanks.”

“I'll see you on the other side,” he said, snapping his fingers. He vanished along with Negan.

As they disappeared, T’Mollek realized she still had the bone knife in her hand. She held it out to him, but he was already gone. She stuck it back into her boot.

***

T’Mollek went to Negan’s house to check on Elgie. She took a piece of bread and a bottle of safe water from the kitchen and found the child in Negan’s bed. The little girl’s eyes were hollow from lack of sleep, vomiting, and general terror.

“Here. Drink this. It’ll make you feel better.”

Elgie sipped the water, then whispered hoarsely, “Your hypopasis was incorrect.”

“How so?”

“The Screaming Ghost Creatures are real. They made me got sick.”

“No. They did not make you get sick,” T’Mollek assured her. “The creatures are not real at all.”

“But I bomited,” she argued weakly.

“I know,” T’Mollek said, stroking her hair. “But not because of any fictitious ghost stories. I promise. Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Elgie said. Then she added, “My tummy hurts.”

“I am sorry.”

“It's not your fault.”

“Well . . .” T’Mollek began. Her voice trailed off.

She saw a piece of paper Elgie was clutching in her hand. It was the photograph of young T’Mollek and her mother on Lake Michigan in Chicago. Negan must have taken it from the box in the closet to give to Elgie for security when he left the house to murder T’Mollek. She looked at it more closely than she had the night before. T’Auvilyn looked proud and happy. Her long curls blew in the lake breeze. Baby T’Mollek was smiling and pulling on her mother’s round, flatstone pendant that bore the word “CEANNA.”

“What is this?” she asked Elgie.

“It's a picture of me and my mommy,” she said. “I told you about her. She got dead.”

The child believed T’Mollek’s mother to be her own. She couldn’t allow her to believe the lie. “Elgie, that woman....” T’Mollek began. But she stopped. There was not always a reason to tell the truth about everything. The little girl needed this fantasy to hold onto. “That woman is very beautiful,” she said truthfully. “And she loved her little girl very much.”

Elgie sighed happily and hugged the picture close to her, closing her eyes. “I love her, too.”

T’Mollek gave her a sad smile. She didn’t mind sharing the memory—or the photograph— of her mother with the orphaned girl. Especially after all she had put the child through.

“Scootch over for me,” T’Mollek said quietly. Elgie did, and T’Mollek sat on the bed next to the child. She gave her a kiss on the top of the head. Elgie coughed for some time. She had aspirated some of her sick during the night. T’Mollek positioned her so she was sitting up, leaning against her.

“Go to sleep, my one,” she whispered. The term of endearment had come easily and naturally to her.

“Dat’s what Dzaxon calls me,” Elgie whispered, just before she started lightly snoring.

T’Mollek had never been in such a physically awkward or uncomfortable position, but after a few moments, she was dozing in Negan’s bed as well.

 

***

Later that morning, T’Mollek heard voices outside. Crusher, Riker, Worf, and Q had beamed down to Algalon to investigate and bring the survivors back to the _Enterprise_.

Q accompanied Dr. Crusher to check in on the children. Worf went to Negan’s house to look for the crawl space and evidence of a crime. Riker searched the tents. He found Data in his tent lying on his bed in a deactivated state. He rolled him over and pressed his lower back. Data opened his eyes and rebooted.

When he appeared to be sentient again, Riker demanded, “What happened? Who did this?”

“Dr. O’Reilly,” he replied. “Did she take the children to Betagon?”

“No. She’s still here. Why did she deactivate you?”

“She did not wish to confront Jaxon Traegar about her suspicions that he was poisoning the children.”

“She just might have been right. Jaxon Traegar is in custody. He seemed to confess as much while he was trying to stab her to death.”

“Sir?”

“Long story. We’ll talk about it later. Are you all right?”

Data tilted his head. “All functions appear to be operating under normal parameters.”

“Good. You help Dr. Crusher get the children and Del ready to beam up to sickbay, then meet us at Traegar’s house. We’re conducting a full search and seizure.”

“Aye, sir,” said Data.

They left his tent and turned to go their separate ways.  

“Sir?” Data said.

“Yeah, Data?” Riker said, turning around.

“It is good to see you again.”

***

Worf kicked in the door to Negan’s house as though he expected an ambush. T’Mollek was holding the sleeping Elgie in Negan’s bed. Elgie startled awake at the sound of his heavy footsteps and the creaking floor boards. T’Mollek hushed her and rocked her in her arms back to sleep.

Worf searched the kitchen, making a lot of noise. T’Mollek was torn between holding Elgie and getting up to ask Worf to please search more quietly. She decided to wait it out. When Worf entered Negan’s room, he was startled by the sight of T’Mollek and Elgie. T’Mollek held a finger to her lips to shush him. He stopped in his tracks, a bit confused. He curled a lip in mistrust but stopped. T’Mollek silently moved her finger from her lips to point to the closet, gently jabbing her finger in the air to indicate he move his search there.

By the time Worf had figured out how to get into the crawl space, Riker had arrived as well, and this time, Elgie woke up. Riker gave her charming smile, and Elgie blushed. T’Mollek rolled her eyes.

She carried Elgie outside, where Q was waiting for them.

“The children and Del have all been beamed up to sickbay and are being tended to,” he told her. “They’re expected to recover fully.”

“Thank you,” she said gratefully.

Riker and Worf exited the house.

“Uh, T'Mollek,” Riker said, “Traegar said that you broke into his house. If that's the case, we might not be able to admit the evidence into Federation court. Will we . . . .find forensic evidence of a break-in?”

T’Mollek glanced past him at Q, who pursed his lips and surreptitiously shook his head in the negative. She remembered that the doorknob and doorjamb had been intact when she entered this morning to see to Elgie—all evidence of the detonator and broken lock had been erased. “No,” she said evasively. “You apparently will not.”

Riker looked back at Q and glared, but what could he do? “Uh-huh . . .”


	12. Post-Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dust settles and Q offers his support as only Q can.

###  Post-Show

Q was hovering like a helicopter parent on the first day of preschool.

“This should help with the pain,” Dr. Crusher told T’Mollek, glaring at Q out of the corner of her eye. “And don’t worry. We can take care of those scars after they’ve healed a bit.”

“Actually, I’d like to keep them,” T’Mollek answered. “Except the calluses on my hands. Those should go.”

“Suit yourself. You know, you’re lucky to be alive. Traegar barely missed several arteries during the attack.”

“Her training apparently paid off,” Q said.

“Apparently,” Crusher said. “I still don’t understand why Traegar thought that you would poison a little girl.”

T’Mollek studied her calluses, avoiding eye contact. “There is still a great deal I don’t understand as well.”

“Well, the captain is getting to the bottom of it now,” Crusher said. “He’s interrogating Traegar as we speak. He’ll want you for a debrief as soon as he’s finished.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll leave you here to rest until then. I want to keep an eye on those cuts.”

Crusher exited through the sliding door. T’Mollek slid off the sickbay bed and walked to the replicator to get a drink of water.

“You’re supposed to be resting!” Q said, hastily reaching to take the water from her.

“I’m fine,” she said through her teeth.

“There's something different about you,” he said studying her. “Are you . . . taller? You are. You're _taller_ . . . You're standing taller. I've given you confidence.”

“You have given me nothing,” she said flatly.

He cocked his head at her and asked coyly, “Nothing . . . ?”

“You’ve given me—”

“The best night of your life, for one thing!” he exclaimed.

She shook her head and lay back on the bed with a sigh. “I was going to say no end of frustration.”

“I want it to go on record that it was I who brought order to your chaos,” he said, ignoring her.

“So noted,” she said, closing her eyes.

Q was pleased with himself and wanted her to be, too. “You have to admit, Molls . . . I did save the day. Again.”

She opened her eyes and gaped at him in disbelief. “ _You_ saved the day?”

“Of course! There you were, about to get your ass handed to you once again, and who shows up but your fairy godfather, and bippity-boppity-boo!”

She leaned back again and muttered, “Fairy godfather indeed . . .”

“I admit, I do see myself as more in the Prince Charming role.” He struck a valiant pose.

T’Mollek shook her hands in front of her. “Please. Spare me another costume change.”

He smirked confidently. “I’ll have you in a gown again yet.”

“In your dreams.”

“A dream is a wish your heart makes,” he said sweetly.

“Be that as it may, ‘fairy godfather.’ I had everything under control.”

“Oh, really? How would you have hailed the _Enterprise_ without me? They were still orbiting Calagon. How would you have gotten Traegar into custody on your own?”

“His name is Negan. And I wouldn't. I would have simply killed him.”

Q stopped short. “Oh. Just . . . murdered him? In cold blood?”

“It wasn’t cold blood,” she said dismissively. “He attacked me with a knife.”

“Your _own_ knife,” he pointed out. “One that you planted.”

She shrugged, her eyes closed.

“So you would have wrested it away from him and then what? He’d have run into your knife ten times?”

“Something to that effect. But your presence rendered that decision unnecessary. He is, instead, alive and in custody.”

“So . . . I actually saved his contemptible life?”

“It is better this way,” she admitted. “Justice will be served and his legacy will reflect his true nature. Murder is not the optimal solution.”

“Besides, you have enough blood on your hands as it is,” he said casually.

“What do you mean?” she asked, sitting up a bit.

“I can read you like a book, Tamale,” Q said in a mildly mocking tone.

“You don't know as much about me as you think you do.”

“I know that when I brought up murder, you tensed up like a Cardassian jungle shrew. _And_ I know that if not for my . . . gentle prodding, you would still be invisible. You would never have even been considered for this mission.”

“On the contrary. I was the only logical choice for this mission. I simply did not wish to be the _leader_ of the team. My so-called invisibility was crucial to stopping Negan and uncovering his true identity. However, you saw to it that my leadership skills were noticed and rewarded. Which put me in far more danger than had I been a mere assistant.”

“Oh,” he said, then added grimly, “not to mention your lack of flight command experience cost the lives of your medical crew.”

She glared at him.

“Well,” he went on more cheerily, “if nothing else, you have to admit, I made things interesting.”

“That is true,” T’Mollek conceded. “You did make things . . . quite interesting.”

“I have to say, I was a bit astonished that you stumbled on the solution in the crawl space—quite literally. And how well you fought . . . And that _nerve_ pinch!” He was damning her with condescending praise.

T’Mollek turned to him, incredulous but amused. “You actually still believe in my incompetence—the very incompetence you repeatedly tried so hard to disprove.”

He smirked and raised his eyebrows. “I saw you in the holodeck . . . .”

“The program was based on Negan’s own fighting style. I was, as you said, ‘learning to take a punch’ so that I would have physical evidence of his assault should I have made it off Algalon.”

“The knife narrowly missed several arteries only because you allowed them to?”

She held up her bandaged arms. “Do you remember where the holodeck knife struck me?” She indicated the exact areas her bandages covered as well as her face. “I thought you saw through my weakness and incompetence. I thought that was why you were attracted to me.”

“So all the self-doubt, the underachieving was—an act?”

“A misdirection,” she corrected.

“But the nerve pinch . . . . You couldn't do it on the Blotorkian ship. You nearly paralyzed me.”

“I _chose_ not to incapacitate you with the pinch.”

“You chose to _hurt_ me,” he said accusingly. “And insisted it go on your record.” A lightbulb went off. “You knew Traegar— _Negan—_ would be reading your record and you didn't want him to know you could incapacitate _him_ whenever you wanted. Or fight him. You didn’t want to be seen as a threat.”

“‘Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak,’” she quoted.

“Sun Tzu. _The Art of War_ ,” he said. “There _is_ more to you than there is to you . . .” he said faintly.

“Had Negan felt threatened by me, he would have killed me as he did Dr. Hall. As he tried to kill Del.”

“And I nearly ruined that by seeing your value and forcing you to put it on display.”

“Repeatedly,” she said with a wry twist of her mouth.

“Oh, you little trickster!” Q said in delight. “I did not see that coming. But wait, when we had the . . .” He wiggled his fingers in front of his forehead. “. . . the mind thingie. You nearly pulled my face inside out. Was that an act, too?”

“Oh, no,” she said sincerely. “The mind meld is not easy to establish, nor is it for the faint-hearted. I am still quite inexperienced and somewhat inexpert. Either or both of us could have quite easily died or gone mad.”

He paled. “Oh . . . .”

“My telepathic strengths are more . . . intangible.”

“What, you mean you have a very particular set of skills?” He looked at her eagerly. “What are they?

She shook her head.

“What _arrrre_ they??” he goaded her.

Reluctantly but with some measure of embarrassed pride, she admitted, “I can . . . make suggestions. Telepathically.”

Q stared at her. “You can use the Force?”

“I do not know what that is.”

“You make people do things against their will. Is that how you got into Data’s pants? And you call me ethically ambiguous. I am aghast. Who’s the puppet master now?”

“I cannot make anyone do anything against their will. On the contrary, I make _suggestions_ based on what they are already inclined to do but may be reluctant. I just . . . urge them in that direction. Troi is particularly vulnerable. Negan, I could not urge at all.” Then she remembered the acupressure session on his couch. “Well . . . for the most part, I could not.”

“Is that how you got such a high pediatric approval rating?”

She shot him a questioning look.

“It’s in your record that children, quote, _like_ you,” he elaborated. “Do you look them in the eyes and make them _want_ to take their medicine?”

“You don’t understand how 24th century healthcare works at all, do you?” she sighed. “Children like me because I know how to relate to them.”

“And how’s that?”

“Children want what we all want,” she said. “To be respected. To be heard. To be understood.”

“So you don’t use the Force on them?” he said, almost disappointed.

“I don’t think that’s a thing . . .”

“Do me! Do me!” he cried excitedly.

“No . . .” She turned away from him.

“C’mon,” he begged. “Tell me to do something!”

He stood next to her, his face inclined, as if waiting for her to spray his face with pixie dust. T’Mollek sighed and then gave him The Stare. He heard the suggestion, opened his eyes, and gave her an offended look.

“That was _rude_!” he said, his brow furrowed. “And, in my present manifestation, anatomically impossible.”

T’Mollek half-grinned and turned away again so he wouldn’t see.

“So you’re just the little pointy-eared devil on the shoulder, whispering temptations,” Q said, gently and affectionately tugging her earlobe.

“That’s offensive,” she said, but she didn’t pull away. Her earlobe was a bit of an erogenous zone.

“‘Do it . . . Dooooo it!’” he whispered in her ear, teasingly imitating her devilish commands. He narrowed his eyes in realization. “No wonder you thought I'd gotten into your head when we first met. You had a guilty conscience.” He shook his head and smirked. “You're a bad girl.”

She blushed and looked away. “You have no idea,” she muttered.

Q raised an eyebrow at that. Then he had a thought. “Wait a minute. “Does this ability . . . run in the family?”

“It does,” she said, intending to evade the question she thought he was driving at. “Few Vulcans can reach inside the minds of others without the benefit of touch. My grandfather could do it from quite a distance.”

He raised both eyebrows this time. “I thought you said you didn’t know your grandparents. . . .”

“I didn’t,” she said, suddenly guarded. “And I don’t.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “Mm-hm. Does your Aunt T’Sharr share this ability?”

She sighed. As much as she admired his intelligence, she wished he hadn’t picked up on the fact that T’Sharr was a blood relative and not just her mentor. But T’Mollek could not deny it as that would be a lie. “She does.”

“So she ‘suggested’ that Picard bring you on board the _Enterprise_ , even though you hadn’t proven yourself in any way, shape, or form.”

“I don’t know that,” she said hesitantly.

“And she’s a far more powerful telepath than you,” he continued. “She can probably persuade people to do things they _don’t want to do._ ” He clapped his hands together as if he’d solved the case. “Yes! Tammy, you are here under false pretenses!”

“My abilities are everything my aunt claimed. She may have ‘suggested’ he overlook my academic and professional record in favor of my _actual_ abilities and qualifications . . .”

“Something Captain By-the-Book would never do. . . .”

“Which is why Riker was so suspicious of me. He had every right to doubt me, to suspect me of not being what I was.”

“Because you weren’t.”

“I was actually _more_ myself than I’ve been able to let on in twenty years.”

“A double agent,” he said. “So let me get this straight: you went all through medical school, stumbled through Starfleet, and spent years as a pediatrician on a practically deserted starbase, just biding your time for this assignment?”

“My aunt knew that eventually a Starfleet ship would come near this sector and I would find an opportunity to travel to Algalon and face Negan. To uncover the truth about his past and ensure that justice was served. The Romulan wars almost put an end to half a lifetime of planning.”

“But how did she know he was on Algalon?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t tell me he was using the assumed name of Jaxon Traegar. Nor that he was the president of the colonists.”

“But there was so much doubt in you, Sweetie Drops. I _felt_ it. During the—” He wiggled his fingers in front of his forehead again. “Mindy-mind link.”

“I did feel doubt. About whether I would succeed at this ruse . . . . About how I felt for you.”

He perked up a bit. “So that part was—”

“Also not an act. My feelings were quite real.”

“‘Were’?”

She raised a defiant eyebrow but refused to respond.

“And the claustrophobia?”

She took a deep breath. “Also real. But controllable.”

“All the time I thought you were this little fearful thing just trying to survive in the big, bad world . . .” He looked at her with a naughty grin and closed in on her hospital bed. “When all along, you were fearless.

“I never said I was fearless,” she said, subconsciously leaning away from him. “I was quite content as a quiet starbase pediatrician. I did not want this mission. And now that it’s over, I will await my inevitable court-martial with great trepidation.”

“Court-martial?” he said indignantly. “For what?”

“For so many things. The loss of lives of my crew. Breaking and entering. Deactivating my commanding officer . . .  to name a few.” She did not want to admit, even to him, what she had done to Negan’s daughter—or that she had conspired to assassinate him.

Q shook his head. “You’re even more chaotic neutral than I am!” He slowly and sensually walked around her bed, staring into her eyes the entire time. “So all this time, you pretended to be terrible at mind melding, unable to do the nerve pinch, weak at hand-to-hand combat, and generally unsure of yourself. Just leading up to the moment that you could expose this Negan for the murderer he is. Oh, false one, you have deceived me! I love a story where someone isn't what they appear to be! T'Mollek O'Reilly, master of the long con. I. Am. Impressed.”

A sudden thought occurred to him. “Not to mention . . . .”

“What?”

He rubbed his hands together in fiendish delight. “You poisoned a little girl!”

“I gave her a mild emetic,” she clarified. “She was never in any danger.”

“Well, but still. You deliberately sickened a child to further your goals. Do no harm, indeed.”

“Your point, Q?”

“My point is,” he said, quite pleased with himself, “I've been a positive influence on you.”

T’Mollek thought of a number of responses for this comment. She couldn’t choose one, but each one of them was written across her countenance.

“If Beverly and Deanna ever invite you to one of the senior officers’ poker games? Don't accept,” Q said. “You have absolutely no poker face.”

T’Mollek scoffed, slid off the bed, and limped out of sickbay.

“Don't roll your eyes at me, Molly!” Q called to her as she departed.


	13. Debrief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As they discuss what happened on Algalon and what to do about Negan, Picard makes an unsettling discovery about T'Mollek and her family.

### Debrief

Captain Picard was making no headway with the prisoner. T’Mollek had claimed the man had stolen the identity of Jaxon Traegar, the president of the Algalon penal colony, but the _Enterprise_ computer had no record of a man by that name. The computer had a little more information about Negan, the single-named former athletic celebrity who had been convicted as an accomplice in a medical scandal on Vulcan. Unfortunately, the records of the case against him had been sealed for reasons unknown. And the prisoner wasn’t talking.

The Berellian engineer who had been the last patient to succumb to the poison had corroborated T’Mollek’s assertion that Traegar had deliberately poisoned him and the others, but he was unable to confirm his identity.

Picard, however, had every confidence that T’Mollek, who had spent the past four months working closely with him, would be able to get a confession out of him. After all, she had been quite successful with the Andorian messenger who had delivered the Blotorkians’ threat against the Earth as a result of Q’s interference on their planet thousands of years ago.

But first, he and the other executive officers of the _Enterprise_ had some questions for her.

“What provoked Traegar’s attack?” Picard asked her.

“When we first met him, Counselor Troi sensed he was fiercely protective of the children,” T’Mollek answered. “That he would kill to protect them. In fact, he would kill to protect only one of them—his daughter, Elgie. She was the only one he didn’t poison.”

“Why did he believe she needed protection from you?” he pressed.

“It was justified, sir,” she confessed. “I led him to believe that I had knowingly given the child water from the well. His statements during the attack verified my suspicions that he had been poisoning the well.”

“But you didn’t poison his daughter . . .?” Troi asked uncertainly.

“I gave her a dose of concentrated mustard powder in a time-released capsule,” T’Mollek explained. “It upset her stomach. And I placed a small flash pot in her backpack to spray squid ink on her hands when she opened it. These symptoms simulated acute asteria poisoning. She was never in any harm. Although I deeply regret my actions.”

“But what was his motive for poisoning the others?” Troi asked.

At this, T’Mollek grasped a bit. “Sick children cannot eat. They do not demand attention. I believe that Negan kept them ill to preserve resources. Perhaps he was using them as bait to receive equipment and supplies or luring us here for the Romulans to attack.”

“What makes you think Traegar was working with the Romulans?” Riker demanded.

“I intercepted their communications. The commander wanted his daughter, but he offered the _Enterprise_ in exchange for her life. The commander told him the _Enterprise_ had been destroyed.”

“How did you know that Negan was poisoning the compound?” Dr. Crusher wanted to know. T’Mollek felt a slight rush of appreciation that Beverly had respected her testimony enough to refer to him by his real name.

“I began to recognize a pattern,” she answered. “He kept separate bottles of well water in a smaller refrigerator. When I attempted to drink from one, he emptied it into an herb garden before I could. The children’s condition began to improve over the next week or so. Within another week, they were ill again. It takes about a week to grow and produce the amount of poison needed to keep children in a state of near-coma. Their condition grew markedly worse. One little boy died. The patients improved again while he was away for several days in the city and grew worse again soon after his return.”

“But you said you gave another boy—Doston—miyo root to counteract the poison, but he died anyway,” said Crusher.

“I’m not convinced he died.”

“What makes you say that?” Riker asked.

“A hunch. The mound of dirt covering his grave seemed insufficient to have covered a body the size of Doston’s. I don’t believe he was buried there. I felt the same about another girl’s grave . . . Tenna. The grave of the last child to die, Adiv, had a larger mound of dirt than either of theirs, even though he was the smallest child.”

Picard immediately tapped his communicator and paged LaForge, who was still on the planet’s surface. He asked him to exhume the graves of Doston and Tenna and to contact him immediately when he had.

Picard told T’Mollek that neither he nor Troi had been able to get Negan to speak. He asked her to try.

“I cannot,” she said simply.

“You have a proven track record of success,” he reminded her.

“The Andorian was young and scared,” T’Mollek protested, carefully avoiding mentioning that she had telepathically urged him to do what he already wanted to do—confess. Something that Negan in no way wanted to do. “I don’t have the necessary skills to . . . reach Negan.”

“You know him better than any of us,” Troi said encouragingly. “You may be able to reach him on a personal level, just because of your relationship. To find a weakness you can exploit, to get him to lower his guard. The old-fashioned way. You need to try.”

“Please, Captain, I don’t—”

“T’Mollek,” Riker barked, interrupting her protestation. “You survived a shuttle crash, a knife attack, and close-proximity asteria exposure, _and_ you singlehandedly apprehended a potential mass murderer and Romulan sympathizer. All on your own. It’s time you stop doubting yourself. Or pretending to doubt yourself, or whatever it is you’re doing. I know you don’t want to spend any more time with Trae—” He stopped himself. “With Negan. I know he’s a dangerous and manipulative man. But I also know that you’ve shown yourself to be worthy of this challenge.” He paused and leaned in, looking directly into her eyes with an intensity of which she had seldom been on the receiving end. “You can do this.”

She shook her head, not believing her ears. “But Commander—”

“I believe in you, the captain believes in you, and I think everyone in this room believes in you. Now believe in yourself and do this. Talk to him. Get some answers out of him.”

T’Mollek couldn’t remember a time that anyone had expressed faith in her. She hadn’t even been trying to get him to say it. This seemed genuine. She glanced at Troi, who smiled and gave her a little nod.

She felt as if she were finally getting the recognition she not only deserved, but had craved for years—the praise she has been purposely denying herself to fulfill a family blood oath she had never fully subscribed in to begin with. She looked around the table at the encouraging smiles. She gave a small, humble nod to Captain Picard, who turned to Riker.

“Make it so.”


	14. Interrogation I: Secrets Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the first part of her interrogation of Negan, life-altering secrets are revealed to T'Mollek.

###  Interrogation I: Secrets Revealed

“You sure you don’t want to shower and change first?” Riker asked, eyeing her torn, bloody civilian clothes. Per her wishes, her bare arms were wrapped in bandages that covered the stitches Dr. Crusher had used to sew her stab wounds closed. Why she hadn’t simply allowed them to be sealed using modern technology was beyond any of them. But T’Mollek had her reasons.

“No, these stitches can’t get wet for several days,” she said. “And I don’t want to the opportunity to change my mind.”

He smiled in grim sympathy as he led her to the brig, where Negan lay on a small, uncomfortable looking cot. It made her cot on Algalon look plush. His back was to her, his head resting on his arm. His cell was contained within a force field.

“May I go inside?”

“You’ll be all right?” Riker asked her.

She nodded. Riker silently gave his approval to the guard, who pressed a button and momentarily released the force field. She entered the cell and sat on the cot next to Negan. The guard replaced the force field. She looked at Riker and gave him a nod of dismissal.

“I’ll be on the bridge if you need anything,” he said. Before he left, he asked the guard, “He’s been read his rights?”

“Yes, sir,” the guard answered. “He knows that anything he says is being officially recorded.”

“Good,” Riker said and gave the guard a look that said, _Keep an eye on things._ The guard nodded his understanding, and Riker left.

After several long moments of silence, T’Mollek said softly, “Elgie is fine. She’s in sick bay eating toast and bananas.”

He said nothing.

“She asked for cookies.”

Negan didn’t move. After a long pause, he whispered hoarsely, “How could you poison that little thing? Why?”

“To provoke an attack,” she said cruelly.

“ _Why_?”

“To force a confession,” she said tightly. After a pause, she said, barely audibly, “To give me an excuse to kill you.”

He looked over his shoulder at her. “Why’d you need an excuse? And why’d you leave your knife for me to find?”

“I prefer a fair fight.”

“Did you want to kill me,” he asked, “or did you want me to kill you?”

There was a long pause. “I don’t know.”

Negan sighed. “I know the feeling.” He rolled over and faced her. “You can really fight.”

“Thank you.”

“Who taught you to do that?”

Her mouth flickered in a smile. “You did. There’s a holo-program based on your wrestling technique.”

He sat up. “Huh,” he said thoughtfully, glad he’d left a legacy somehow.

After another pause, she asked him, “Why did you do it?”

He grinned humorlessly, knowing she was here to get a confession. “Do what?”

“Kill them,” she said stiffly. She purposely avoided specifics.

“Kill _whom?_ ” he asked, enunciating exaggeratedly in his annoyance. He knew she was not just referring to the asteria victims on Algalon.

She fought to maintain control of her voice. “ _All_ of them.”

Negan scoffed and looked down at his hands. “I think I’m done talkin’ to you.”

She looked at him a long while. He looked so alone, so beaten.

“It wasn’t poison,” she said finally.

“What wasn’t?” he asked, distracted, still looking at his hands.

“What I put in Elgie’s water during our picnic. It was concentrated mustard seed in one of her vitamin capsules. And squid ink, propelled by a magnetic detonator in her backpack. But I am sorry I made Elgie ill.”

He let out a long sigh of relief that ended with an almost-chuckle. He looked up and away from her. “And I didn’t kill your parents.”

T’Mollek felt a sudden flash of hot fury. Not only did he think she was lying, he was sarcastically lying about his own atrocities. “How dare you—?”

Negan put his hands up. “I admit, I was responsible for their deaths. Indirectly. But I didn’t mean for them to die. I was twenty-one, I was a major pain in the ass. A spoiled, privileged, galaxy-wide celebrity who thought the universe revolved around him. I wasn’t used to being told I couldn’t have something. I was angry and I was jealous and I wanted what was mine.”

T’Mollek listened to him, not understanding half of what he was talking about.

He stopped and looked down again. He put his head down and ran a hand through his hair in sorrow. “That sweet, innocent baby. She thought she was gonna die like Adiv.”

He was rambling incoherently, his disjointed thoughts shifting back and forth in time.

“Again,” she said, confused and a little detached, “I regret my actions.”

“Regret your—? Don’t you know who she is?”

“Of course,” T’Mollek said, “She’s your daughter.”

It was Negan’s turn for incredulity. “You really don’t know. Elgie. El J’Lena?”

T’Mollek gave him a long, blank stare.

“Your baby sister.”

“My . . .?”

“Your _half_ -sister,” he amended. “You really didn’t know? Your mother and I . . .”

“Stop,” she said. “That’s impossible. Elgie is four years old. My mother died twenty-five years ago. I was an only child.”

Was he saying that her mother was still alive—or she had been four years ago?

Negan turned to her, intrigued. “You don’t remember your baby sister. You left her in her crib when the café was bombed.”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t on Nimbus III when the café was bombed. I was on Earth. I was alone in my room when I heard the news,” she said distantly, remembering a brightly-lit room and something in her arms. “I left my . . . toys . . . .”

“What toys?” he prompted.

“My . . . doll. . . .”

“Wow,” he chuckled sadly. “You really don’t remember. Your aunt must’ve done a mind freak on you. OK, so the bomb that killed your mother. It was only meant to be a distraction, so I could take the baby . . . _my_ baby.”

“But how . . . ?”

Negan sighed. “Let me start from the beginning. As you apparently know, when I was right out of school, I was a luchador on Earth.”

“Specter.”

“Yeah. Specter. So I guess you know I accidentally killed a Cardassian in a wrestling match. I was acquitted because everyone was scared of the Cardassians at that point, I exploited that and went into politics. I was the most divisive candidate since early 21st century. Stirred up latent fears and prejudices . . . I was very successful. But I was stupid and greedy, I partnered with this quack, Anthony Benton who made a killing selling a cure for Tuvan Syndrome on Vulcan. It wasn’t a cure, it was just a hybridized form of the choriocytosis virus. It mimicked a cure, but within weeks the patient’s blood and organs were completely deoxygenated. The virus spread and thousands died. Then he made a huge profit selling the cure to choriocytosis. That wasn’t what I’d signed up for. I turned Benton in, but I was arrested as an accomplice. He was smarter than I was and got away. Last I heard, he’d changed his name to Antius Bandeen and was back to his old game. I don’t know what ever happened to him.”

“He’s been materialized inside the walls of a cave on the planet Syroda,” T’Mollek said dryly.

Negan gave her a long, disbelieving stare. “You’re kidding.”

“Vulcans never—”

“Never kid,” he finished with her. “Got it. Anyway. So I was the one they arrested and sentenced to life on Algalon. But during my wrestling days, I’d made friends with a Romulan physician—Navik, a member of the underground Reunification movement. Good guy.”

“T’Sharr would not have approved,” T’Mollek said. “She has been against the reunification of Romulans and Vulcans my entire life.”

“Well, she’s not alone. He was the one who got me into politics. After I got arrested, he helped me escape, took me to his group on Romulus. They knew of my reputation as a politician. I know how to work a crowd, but they weren’t gonna listen to a human. So the higher-ups offered to change me to a Romulan so I could campaign for them. I don’t just mean surgically altered to look like a Romulan . . . . They were gonna actually change my DNA, my ribosomal footprint. So if I were captured, and, you know, dissected, I would pass. Well, I knew enough about experimental medical procedures not to want anything to do with that plan. But I was in, and they weren’t lettin’ me out. So Navik called in a few favors and got in touch with your parents’ security organization. They sent your mother underground on Romulus, and she got me out. . . . Killed a lot of Romulans in the process.

“She got me back to Earth, but when she realized who I was, she was honor-bound to bring me to justice, take me to Algalon, where I’d been sentenced. At that point, I was fine with it. I just wanted off Romulus. So we went undercover, posing as a married couple, going from place to place on our way to Algalon. When we reached Nimbus III . . . It was the strangest thing. Everything was professional, cordial—up until this one night when your mother got real sick. Like, feverishly sick. And then . . . I don’t know what came over her, but . . . Well, Elgie was born ten months later. T’Auvilyn never looked me in the eye again, until the end.”

“Pon farr,” T’Mollek whispered to herself.

“What?”

“A Vulcan condition. Not to be discussed.”

“Huh. Anyway, T’Auvilyn never admitted El J’lena was mine, but she clearly was.”

“You escaped custody by bombing the hotel where my parents were holding you. They were both killed instantly in the explosion. There were no remains.”

Negan was growing slightly disturbed. “T’Mollek,” he said gently, “you really don’t remember . . . what happened?”

“I know only what I was told. I was with my grandparents on Earth when it happened. My parents were on duty, and children were prohibited from accompanying them.”

“Did your Aunt T’Sharr tell you this?” Negan asked. “Your father brought you to Nimbus III to see your mother and to take Elgie, but he never made it to the hotel. He died on the way.”

“That is not what happened,” she argued uncertainly, wondering how Negan knew she had an aunt named T’Sharr. Only Q had figured it out, and he was omniscient.

“It was,” Negan said firmly. “I didn’t kill your father, but he died because of me, and your mother wouldn’t forgive me, wouldn’t even let me explain. She made arrangements for T’Sharr to take Elgie and you back to Earth. I went to a bar, got drunk, and spilled my whole story to a couple of Bajorans. They offered to help me take the baby and escape.”

“By bombing the hotel,” she said doggedly.

“No,” Negan said, low and soothingly. He faced her and put his hands on her shoulders. He looked into her eyes as he spoke. “The Bajorans were supposed to start an argument in the café, and your mother, being your mother, would try to arbitrate. During the chaos, I was gonna take the baby, and the Bajorans would take me to where Navik was staying. A bomb was never part of the plan.”

His words jogged memories in her that had long been buried. The physical touch served as a conduit for sound and image. As if in a hypnotic trance, she saw a glimmer in the back of her mind. Tables and chairs, a counter, a kindly man pouring coffee. The murmur of patrons chatting, the clanking of glasses and the clattering of cutlery on plates. A door swung open.

“Two boys wearing hoods came into the café,” T’Mollek said faintly. “They were shouting. There were no universal translators, and I couldn’t understand what they were saying. Nobody could.” She took a sharp breath. “Nobody except my mother.”

“She spoke Bajoran?” he asked.

“I don’t know . . . .”

“Did she tell you what they were saying?”

“No. I asked her, but she just told me to go upstairs. She handed me my d—” She was about to say “doll” but realized that at ten, she would have been too old to play with dolls. She looked down. The bundle in her arms moved, cooed. “My baby sister. I went upstairs, put her in her crib. But I wanted to help. I got my knife.”

“You took your knife and went back down to protect the café owner,” he said, smiling affectionately. “You are your mother’s daughter.”

“I went down to the café. There was an explosion, and the floor gave way. I fell through. I was buried under the rubble.” Her breathing grew shallow and quickly. “Completely buried.”

“But you got out,” he reminded her reassuringly, holding her shoulders tightly and giving them a little shake. “How did you get out?”

“My . . . my mother dug me out with her bare hands. She held out her hand to pull me out. One of the boys came up behind her and . . .” Her voice faltered. “Slashed her throat.” She took in a long, shuddering breath. “He threw her down and ran for the door. I picked up the knife—he’d dropped it . . .” She stopped, realizing what she’d done.

“ . . . And you killed him good,” Negan finished, taking his hands off her shoulders and letting her process this.

T’Mollek looked down at her hands, as though seeing the blood again. “I was like an animal.”

“You were justified,” he said gruffly. “He’d killed your mother.”

“ _You_ killed my mother.”

“T’Mollek, I’m telling you. I did not hire them to kill anyone. I don’t do that. I was going to Algalon peaceably.”

“Then why did the Romulans blow up the café?”

“The Bajorans,” he corrected her.

“You’re sure they were Bajoran?”

“I’m sure.”

“Your memory isn’t faulty?” asked the pot of the kettle.

“I’m _very_ sure,” he said, irritated.

“The boy I killed was _Romulan_.”

“Are you sure about that?” Negan asked wryly. “You thought your sister was a doll. Your aunt did something to your memories, I think.”

T’Mollek thought about this. There was so much that she now remembered—but so much more that was still blocked. And her story wasn’t quite jibing with Negan’s. She could think of only one way to learn the truth.

“Negan, would you be opposed to a mind meld?”

“With who?”

“With me.”

He looked at her with amusement and skepticism. He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “But you can’t do a mind meld.”

“I never said that,” she said innocently.

He thought back on their earlier conversation and scoffed. “Huh. Well, I’ll take your word for it. But will it work if your aunt messed with your memories?”

“Under the influence of a mind meld, and with the addition of your mental strength to support me, I believe I can go deeply enough to reach my true memories and not the screen my aunt may have created for me. One cannot lie within a mind meld—even to oneself. One can only see the truth—or nothing at all.”

“All right, then. Let’s get to the bottom of this.”

She took a deep breath to center herself, then placed her right hand on the left side of Negan’s face.

“Should I close my eyes?” he murmured.

“If you wish,” she said softly. “Relax your mind. Allow my mind to enter yours.” She gently probed his cheek with her fingertips before adding, “And don’t fall asleep. Neither of us can fall asleep.”

The connection was made quickly and easily this time. Each of them felt a rush of euphoria as their minds became one. She felt the kindness, the love, and the danger that were Negan. His experiences had hardened him but he still had a few weaknesses—his love for Elgie being primary among them. She also felt the devotion he had for her—both as her mother’s daughter and as the woman she had become.

But now was not the time to explore that.

Because she wasn’t holding anything back from Negan as she had with Q during their mind meld, she was allowed to relax and fully concentrate on the events of her parents’ deaths.

“Your thoughts to my thoughts,” she whispered as she brought her left hand to his face and felt herself slipping deeper into him.


	15. Interrogation II: Negan on My Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negan and T'Mollek enter a deep mind meld and the secrets of his past are uncovered.

### Interrogation II: Negan in Mind

Negan and T’Mollek were standing together at the public transporter station near her mother’s hotel on Nimbus III. Crowds of people pushed through the stalls of the transporter pads, materializing and dematerializing with efficiency.

“Is this your memory or mine?” T’Mollek asked, feeling suddenly warm.

“Not sure. We were both there that day.”

A woman with three small children argued with a transporter attendant about her lost luggage. She insisted that she had a large steamer trunk and it hadn’t beamed over yet. As T’Mollek listened to the woman arguing, her heart started beating faster and her breathing became loud and shallow.

“You OK?” he asked grimly. “Do you remember this?”

“No,” she said, and yet, although she didn’t know why, she was certain she had been here before. Her chest felt heavy and she started to hyperventilate.

“Breathe deep,” Negan said, putting his arm around her shoulder comfortingly. “This isn’t gonna be easy. Just take deep breaths. It’s almost here. You gonna be OK?”

She slipped out from under his grasp and walked closer to the transporter pad, past the arguing woman. She stared at the transporter pad. She heard a strange, low moaning sound and wondered vaguely where it was coming from. The image before her became blurry as if it were being submerged in water.

Negan was there again, holding her tight. “Look away, darlin’. You don’t want to see this. Look away, c’mon.”

But she didn’t look away. She blinked and the tears that had flooded her vision fell down her cheeks and the image cleared. The air above the transporter pad shimmered as the incoming transport beamed over.

There was a sound that could be described as a heavy, hollow splatter. A mass of tissue, wood, blood, fabric, bone, and metal fell across the transporter pad and the floor below. A moment later, a little girl appeared—about ten years old, pointed ears, curly red hair, freckles on her nose and the apples of her cheeks, and an excited smile on her face. She looked around for her daddy but didn’t see him yet. She took a step to wait for him off the platform, only to slip and fall down in a thick, wet, slippery red mass. Confused, she struggled to her feet, wiping her hands on her already soaked pants. Her daddy would help clean her up. He knew she hated to be messy.

Looking around for him, she heard shrieks and cries of, “Oh my god,” and “How did this happen?”

The transporter operator had already run off into the crowd.

The woman, whose trunk had been materialized in the same space and at the same time as T’Mollek’s father’s molecules, left her two youngest children with their older brother and ran, horror-stricken, to the little red-haired girl, who was turning aimlessly in a circle, covered in gore, her eyes growing wider and wider.

***

T’Mollek let Negan walk her to a bench at the station.

“One of the Romulans in our group sabotaged the transporter,” he explained quietly.

“On your orders,” she mumbled vaguely.

“No . . . no. Not . . . not explicitly,” he tried to explain. “They knew the whole story and said they’d take care of things for me. I didn’t know they’d take it that far.”

“And you thought these Romulans would simply beseech my father to leave his wife and family to you, and he would meekly acquiesce?” T’Mollek hissed. “No one is that naïve.”

“Maybe not,” Negan admitted. “But I was young and stupid and narcissistic enough to turn a blind eye. I’ve got so many regrets from that time. I’m not that man anymore.”

_Sometimes the road goes bumpy and sometimes it goes smoove._

"The public record stated he was killed in the bombing on Nimbus III," she said.

"The record was falsified."

T'Mollek pondered that but wasn't ready to question the discrepancy further. Not yet. After a moment, she was ready to move on. “Then what happened?”

***

T’Mollek watched as the scene dissolved and a drunk Negan spoke foggily with two young Bajoran men in a smoky bar. The bar was noisy but she could make out the words “baby,” “hotel,” and “distraction.”

She shook her head to clear it and was able to see that a Romulan woman was listening to the conversation from another table.

“Mirek!” said T’Mollek, pointing.

“Hunh?” he asked blearily, drunk in his own memory. He turned and saw the severe-looking Romulan woman across the bar. “You know ‘er?”

“Commander Mirek, a niece of the Romulan emperor Shiarkiek,” she said. “Her sister had dealings with my grandfather. Mirek has held a grudge against the Federation ever since.”

Negan watched her watching the younger him. “That bitch is listening to every word I’m sayin’.”

***

The memory shifted to the café. Diners sat at tables, enjoying apéritifs, meals, and conversation. T’Auvilyn and young T’Mollek sat eating, the infant lay in a basket next to T’Auvilyn. Elgie was playing with a small, flat piece of stone, putting it into her mouth and gumming it. T’Mollek had been crying.

This time, from the misty sidelines of T’Mollek’s memory, she and Negan watched as a boy in his mid-teens entered. He was wearing a hooded cloak. The hood slipped and he adjusted it over his pointed ears.

“You’re right,” Negan said in astonishment. “He’s Romulan. He wasn’t at the bar.”

The boy spoke loudly to the café owners—a married couple—who were standing behind the counter. He spoke in Romulan and the proprietors looked at him in confusion.

Negan explained to T’Mollek, “He’s saying, ‘We have bombs in the café. Everyone must get out.’”

Negan and T’Mollek watched T’Auvilyn tell young T’Mollek to go out the back door quickly and to take Elgie with her. T’Mollek protested but her mother snapped at her insistently. The little girl picked up the baby and walked away from the table. She looked at her mother, whose eyes were fixed on the Romulan behind the counter. Instead of going out the back door, the ten-year-old carried her sister up the flight of stairs at the back of the café. T’Mollek watched her younger self climb the stairs and instinctively waited for the loud creak she knew would accompany the fourth step up. She turned to see if T’Auvilyn had heard it. She had not; she was focused on the boy.

The man behind the counter looked around trying to find someone to help. The Romulan boy went to the back of the counter and pulled on the woman’s arm. She fought back, and her husband stepped in, pushing the boy to the floor. The boy shouted again, more urgently this time.

Negan translated. “He’s saying, ‘Let me go outside. A bomb is strapped to me. I will explode soon.’”

“They don’t understand,” muttered T’Mollek, watching them. “They think he’s threatening them.”

In desperation, the boy struggled to remove his jacket. A rudimentary bomb was indeed strapped to his chest.

T’Mollek and Negan heard a creaking noise behind them and they turned. The young T’Mollek was walking tentatively down the stairs holding her bone knife. She looked terrified.

“Mother?” she called.  
  
“Ceanna! Upstairs, NOW!” her mother shouted.

The boy screamed in Romulan.

Negan quietly translated: “‘Run outside, little girl, or my brother will kill you.’”

The boy tried desperately to remove the bomb from his chest. From behind the counter, a hidden bomb exploded, killing the café owners instantly. Almost simultaneously, another bomb hidden beneath the stairway also went off, creating a crater as concrete and wood fell into the basement. T’Mollek watched as her younger self plummeted into the rubble, becoming crushed and buried by rocks and rubble and dust. The knife flew out of her hand and clattered to the floor several feet away.

The older T’Mollek shuddered and began to hyperventilate. Negan took her again by the shoulders.

“T’Mollek. Stay with me. This is just a memory. Breathe. Concentrate.”

T’Mollek reached deep and regained control as she watched her mother, bleeding and torn, bones and muscle exposed, stand up, walk toward the hole in the floor, and robotically begin pulling stones out with her bloody, shattered hands.

The bomb-strapped Romulan boy helped.

“Ceanna!” T’Auvilyn called, her voice distorted by her blood and her broken teeth. “I’m here! Mama’s here! Don’t worry! I’m coming for you, my one!”

“‘Kee-onna?’” the older T’Mollek repeated. “What does that mean?”

“It’s Gaelic for ‘one,’” Negan explained.

“She used to call me ‘my one,’” she remembered. “You said that to Elgie when she was sick. I think I said it to her once, too.”

“You were supposed to be her one child. That's why she gave you that name.”

She shook her head. “But T’Mollek doesn’t mean ‘one.’”

“No,” Negan said. “Your real name. Ceanna. You didn’t know?”

“I only remember my Vulcan name,” she said. “T’Sharr must have changed it when she changed my memories.”

“I thought you were just tryin’ to be coy,” Negan smiled sadly.

“CEANNA,” T’Mollek said in realization. “The pendants.”

“You carved your name in a flatstone you’d found. She carved something on the back.”

T’Mollek pulled the pendant out from the top of her uniform and turned it over. Now the etching was fresh and clear: “MAMA.”

“You didn’t have time to carve a second one for yourself, so you broke it in half. That way, you’d each have a piece to remember each other by when you were sent to Earth.”

“Elgie was holding Mother’s in her basket,” T’Mollek remembered, “using it as a teething ring.”

“She was always pulling it off the chain ‘round her mother’s neck.”

During this conversation, they watched T’Auvilyn struggling to free her daughter. With the young Romulan’s help, she pulled her out. The child was sobbing and on the verge of hysteria.

The boy spoke tenderly to T’Auvilyn, leading Negan to remark, “Huh,” thoughtfully.

“What did he say?” T’Mollek asked.

Negan answered softly. “He said, ‘Sing the girl a favorite lullaby. It will calm her.’”

T’Auvilyn began to sing T’Mollek’s favorite lullaby: “Speed thee, my arrow, swift as a flying dove/Hasten to her afar, tell her my lo—”

Her voice was abruptly silenced forever as another Romulan, this one in his early twenties, reached from behind T’Auvilyn and slashed her throat with the bone knife he’d picked up from the floor. His younger brother screamed and put his hands on his head in anguish and horror, crying, “Dhat, dhat, dhat!”

_Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no._

The older T’Mollek turned away and came face to face with a young, beardless Negan, carrying the infant Elgie, who was still clutching her half of the flatstone.

T’Auvilyn could do no more than gurgle her last breaths, but she made eye contact with the young Negan, telepathically beseeching, “Save our baby.”

The older brother turned to Negan and the baby. He raised the knife.

“ _Pelaere I llai_ , Negan!”

As he was saying this, the young T’Mollek rose up and charged, slashing Negan in the face with a piece of broken glass and tackling the Romulan who had just murdered her mother. The knife fell from his hand. Negan used the opportunity to escape, protecting his baby and leaving the girl to fight on her own.

Young T’Mollek, covered in blood and white with dust, picked the knife up. She wiped her blood from her eyes as the older brother ran outside after Negan, chasing him down.

The younger brother was at T’Auvilyn’s side, his hands shaking, vainly attempting to staunch the blood, which pumped out of her neck with every weakening heartbeat. The child T’Mollek descended on him, decimating his face and his body with her knife and screaming unendingly.

T’Sharr raced into the café and roughly pulled T’Mollek off the boy, wrenching the knife from her hand and holding her down. She put her hand firmly on her face and hissed, “Forget. Forget!” until the little girl’s screams turn to confused whimpers as the authorities began to arrive.

“And I thought _you_ were a murderer,” T’Mollek said to Negan in the ensuing calm.

“Well . . .” Negan said guiltily. “I was just a coward.”

“What did the older boy say to you?”

“He said, ‘Prepare to die, Negan.’” He was perplexed. “He knew me.”

“From where? Romulus?”

***

The scene shifted. T’Mollek watched while her mother and Negan fought their way out of a crowd of Romulans using melee weapons, as they made their escape from Navik’s keep. Negan carried a club that was covered in tiny metal barbs. It was quite a horrifically effective weapon. T’Auvilyn killed a Romulan who looked to be in his late twenties and resembled the other two young men in the café.

T’Mollek, watching from the sidelines, noticed Mirek in the shadows. She pointed her out to Negan. Mirek’s reaction to the death of the man indicated a close relationship to him.

“My mother killed Mirek’s oldest son,” T’Mollek realized.

“So the café was a double cross,” Negan surmised. “Mirek overheard my conversation with the Bajorans in the bar and sent her two younger sons to the café to kill the both of us in vengeance. She probably killed the Bajorans after they left the bar.”

“And Mirek attacked our shuttlecraft, trying to kill me,” said T’Mollek. “Did you tell her I was aboard?”

Negan looked at her in genuine surprise. “Now, why--? You thought I’d sell you out to that killer?”

“Isn’t that why you turned on the force field? To prevent us from beaming down so we’d have to take the shuttle?”

“T’Mollek . . . once I realized who you were, I turned on the force field so you wouldn’t _have_ to beam down.”

She felt a strange warmth roll over her. He had known of her childhood trauma and was trying to protect her. “But how did she know I was aboard?”

“I think she has a spy inside Starfleet,” said Negan. “Someone who sold you out to her.”

“What happened after you took Elgie out of the hotel?”

“I rendezvoused with Navik. He clipped the baby’s ears and helped me steal a modified prototype runabout that had a stasis pod and a cloaking device. I decided to go to the last place I thought they’d ever look for me—”

“Algalon.”

“The security company assigned me a new identity—Jaxon Traegar, humanitarian and philanthropist. They spent years feeding stories to the masses about my good works. They worked with the military on Algalon and got me in as an aid worker.”


	16. Interrogation III: The Birth of Jaxon Traegar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the interrogation continues, Negan's unlikely origin story is revealed.

### Interrogation III: The Birth of Jaxon Traegar

They were now in the runabout. Negan was at the helm, resuming his role in the memory. He looked so young, a shock of black hair falling into his face roguishly, 5 o’clock shadow on his cheeks. He hailed Algalonian security.

“Jaxon Traegar reporting for duty,” he announced, his voice slightly higher and less gravelly.

“I don’t see a Jaxon Traegar on the list,” the guard replied.

The young Negan looked at T’Mollek nervously. “Can you check again?”

Another guard cut in, “Yes, sorry about that, Mr. Traegar. You were a late addition to the list. You’re good to go. We’ll see you at Checkpoint Blue.”

“My parents’ company paid off the second guard?” T’Mollek asked.

“Money talks on Algalon,” Negan said. “I hid the runabout in that cave and left Elgie’s stasis pod there with an official, government-issued Quarantine label.”

“For twenty-two years, my sister was eighteen months old,” T’Mollek said faintly.

“The years went by,” Negan said, as he aged before her eyes. “I grew my beard to hide the scar. I ran the colony and was a pretty popular president.”

“And without Cardassian prejudice to pave the way.”

She was standing next to him on a stage, with crowds cheering him.

“A coupla years ago, we discovered the Romulans were about to launch a ground invasion. Rumor got out and there was a lot of panic. I got Elgie’s stasis pod from the cave and took it to a secret bunker underneath the village school. A week later, we got the all clear. I went up to meet with the schoolkids, reassure everyone things were safe. That’s when the attacks started.”

They were standing at a dais in a large assembly room on the second floor of the school, which would become the hospital and quarantine area for the children. The student body and faculty were seated on bleachers. The windows blew out and glass showered the assemblage. Negan instinctively pushed T’Mollek to the floor underneath the dais. Explosions erupted all around. Negan and other teachers courageously ran to protect as many children as they could. When the dust cleared, Negan stood up and searched for survivors—twelve children in all. He hustled them to the dimly-lit bunker, with the smallest, Adiv, in his arms. Adiv was covered in dust and blood. T’Mollek ran alongside them.

“I was able to contact the capital,” Negan said breathlessly as they reached the bunker’s communications panel. “The Romulans still hadn’t found the disrupter beam controls, but they did all the damage they could on the ground. Homes were invaded. People tortured and killed in the streets. Thousands were rounded up and taken away in shuttles. We think they were sent into slavery or used for medical experiments. The entire colony. Men, women, and children. Babies. A few were able to escape in shuttlecrafts. After about a month in the bunker, I couldn’t reach anyone at the capital. Then after days of silence, this crazy old Romulan guy came down for us.”

They turned their heads at the sound of security locks being broken. Negan rose and walked quickly to the stasis pod before the door opened. He unlatched the pod door and took the eighteen-month-old Elgie out. The children screamed and there were cries of protest. “No! She’s sick! We don’t want to die!”

Negan surreptitiously broke open a pen and dotted ink on a teenaged girl’s wrist. He looked her in the eyes and gave her a wink. She nodded in understanding. As he hastily dotted ink on the wrists of the other children, the door swung open. The elderly Romulan took Tenna by the arms—gently but firmly. His expression was almost kind, even a little melancholy.

Negan held Elgie next to the sign on the stasis pod. “Stop!” he shouted. “The children are all infected with Tarsen’s disease!”

The Romulan stopped short. He read the quarantine sign on the stasis pod and looked at the toddler in Negan’s arms. His face softened and he gave Negan a half-smile. “How interesting!” the Romulan said. “Our heat sensors didn’t indicate elevated Algalonian body temperatures.”  
  
“The fever hasn’t set in yet,” Negan said, thinking fast. “Just the rash and the vomiting.”

On cue, Tenna began gagging and made herself retch.

The Romulan regarded her but did not flinch. “I suppose our heat sensors will pick up their fevers soon enough,” he said as if to himself.

Then he pulled an object out of his pocket and handed it to Negan with a smile. It was a mini communications receiver—the same one Negan had given T’Mollek to monitor the children’s progress remotely. “This can be connected to your computer or used by hand,” he said in a friendly manner. “And now, I’m afraid we must be going.” Holding his disrupter pistol on the group, he took the brave Tenna out of the bunker and sealed them in with a short blast.

Negan screamed, “No!” and beat on the door with his fists as the eleven remaining children cried.

T’Mollek put her hand gently on his shoulder as he beat the door. “Negan. Negan!”

He looked at her and refocused his eyes, bringing himself back to the present.

“How did you get out?” she asked.

He took a deep breath. “Mirek contacted me a couple days later.” The device in his hand beeped and he held it up so T’Mollek could see as well.

Mirek’s face appeared on the screen. “The girl has been successfully decontaminated. We will wait until the virus is contained to collect the others.” She made a move to sever the connection.

“Wait!” Negan said quickly. “There’s a runabout prototype hidden on Algalon. It’s been refitted with a cloaking device. Let the baby and me go, and it’s yours. You don’t want cloaking technology getting into Federation hands.”

T’Mollek gave Negan a look of disgust. He was selling out twelve schoolchildren for his own safety and that of his daughter. She had admired his bravery upstairs during the attack, but apparently that was just for show. His true cowardice was rearing its ugly head again. Negan returned her look with one of defensiveness.

Mirek quietly consulted with the elderly Romulan who stood just behind her, whispering into her ear. “Agreed. I have another requirement for your survival, however. The security escort who helped you escape—T’Auvilyn. Her elder daughter killed my youngest son and then disappeared. You will help me track her down and bring her to justice.”

“Sure, whatever,” Negan said dismissively.

With that, the entire group was beamed to the surface.

“What just happened?” T’Mollek asked in confusion as the children faded from the memory and she and Negan were left standing alone outside the school.

“The Romulans had just found the disrupter beam and turned it off. They beamed us out of the bunker,” Negan explained. “When we got out, we realized pretty quick that we were the last survivors.”

“Why did the old man risk bringing Tenna back to their ship if he thought she had Tarsen’s?” T’Mollek pondered. “And if they thought they’d decontaminated her, why wouldn’t they just do the same with the rest?”

“I don’t know. Maybe one was a risk he was willing to take. I hadn’t put much ink on her wrist; maybe he thought she wasn’t contagious yet. That old Romulan seemed like he was off his rocker.”

“My hypothesis was correct,” T’Mollek said. “Tenna isn’t dead.”

“No,” said Negan. “She’s worse than dead.”

“The Romulan let slip that they were monitoring your body temperatures,” T’Mollek said, “so you had to give them fevers.”

“I knew asteria mimicked the fuck out of Tarsen’s, but there wasn’t any on Algalon,” he said. “The Romulans didn’t know I knew where the disrupter was located, so I could get a message through subspace and then turn the beam back on again later.”

“The Enterprise received your call,” T’Mollek said. “On their way, they stopped at Starbase 11 to add me to the crew. But then we were . . . diverted."

“The Infinity got there before you could,” he continued, “and they provided us with some necessary supplies.”

“Such as asteria plants?”

He sighed. The scenery around them dissolved, and they were on the Infinity. Negan and a woman were on the botany deck. She was pulling him by the hand as he continually leaned in to kiss her.

“Dr. Hall, I presume?” T’Mollek asked dryly.

Negan gave her a half-grin and a shrug.

“She wasn’t even Betagonian, was she?” T’Mollek asked, remembering what Del had told her at their first dinner together at Negan’s.

“She was Angosian,” Negan said, as Dr. Hall pulled him down a line of plants, laughing, and looked around for an out-of-the-way spot.

“She didn’t have her own cabin?” T’Mollek called behind them.

“It was hotter in the botany deck!” Negan called over his shoulder.

T’Mollek rolled her eyes and followed them.

Another crewmember entered the deck and asked Dr. Hall how she wanted the seedlings packed for transport. The botanist let go of Negan’s hand and resumed a professional demeanor as she left to help the crewmember. With her gone, Negan’s face turned serious and he quickly surveyed the plant life, taking a few clippings of asteria as well as a miyo root and stuffing his pockets.

“So you hid the miyo root in the chicken feed bag,” T’Mollek said in realization.

“What?” he said looking up at her. “No, I’m allergic as fuck to that feed. Is that where you found it?”

“Yes. . . Dr. Hall must have hidden it there, knowing you wouldn’t find it.”

“She saw traces of asteria pollen on my bedroom floor one morning and figured it out,” Negan said. “She must have found the miyo root in my dresser.”

T’Mollek raised an eyebrow. “I thought you never took anyone into your bedroom?”

“Well,” he said, his eyes twinkling, “not after that, I didn’t.”

“So she . . . confronted you?”

“It was bad. Her tricorder told her right away that Elgie wasn’t Algalonian. That’s why I had to destroy it as soon as I could. She threw all the accusations at me. All of ‘em true. I denied it, of course . . . kicked her out. Froze her out.”

“And poisoned her,” she said.

Negan looked down, filled with regret. “She was a good woman. She didn’t deserve that.”

“Didn’t deserve what?” T’Mollek said softly, trying to get the confession out for the record.

“None of them did . . .” he said, still looking down. “The Romulans would have come for the children as soon as they were better, so . . .” His voice trailed off, unable to go on.

“You have to say it,” T’Mollek said gently, putting her hand on his elbow.

“Mind meld confessions aren’t admissible in any court,” he pointed out, swiping at a tear.

“Not until they’re signed,” she reminded him. “Just say it.”

He sighed. “I killed Dr. Hall. And poisoned the children.”

“Why didn’t you kill me when I discovered the poisoning and cured Doston?”

He chuckled darkly. “I wanted to, believe me.”

“But you needed me for leverage. You still had to turn me over to Mirek.”

“Yep,” he said simply, looking at her with shining eyes. “Meanwhile, I had to keep dosing the kids until I could figure out a way to beat the Romulans. Before long, their little bodies couldn't take it. They started dying one by one.”

“Counselor Troi sensed regret, guilt, and protectiveness from you. I later assumed the protectiveness was solely for your daughter.”

“I did everything I could to protect _all_ the children.”

***

Their thoughts brought them to Doston’s grave.

“Doston is gone,” T’Mollek said, remembering her dream.

“You had to go and figure out the antidote.”

She turned to Negan. He was holding Doston in his arms. A loud wind blew as a Romulan shuttlecraft landed.

_Was that a tornado?_

_No. It was only the wind._

She heard footsteps, and a Romulan guard stepped forward.

“You are late,” the Romulan snapped.

“I was detained,” Negan said evenly.

The Romulan reached for Doston, who appeared to be asleep in Negan’s arms. When the rough hands touched the boy, he woke and started screaming and clawing at the invader. In the struggle, Doston’s nose was broken and he sustained multiple cuts on his forehead and face. There was a lot of blood. Negan’s white shirt was soaked. He was desperately telling Doston it would be OK as the shuttlecraft door closed in his face. The craft took off with a roar and disappeared into the night sky.

Negan sank to his knees, sobbing. Then after a few moments, he took a deep breath, stood, went to the barn for a shovel, and started digging a grave to bury Doston’s bloody teddy bear in.

T’Mollek watched over his shoulder as he dug. “You told me I killed him. But in fact, I did much worse than that.”

“Yes,” he replied, digging, his voice tight with emotion. “Now they’re expecting the others to be cured.” He turned to her, covered with mud and blood, desperation and apology in his eyes. “I have to stop you.”

“So you alienate me. Distract me. Discourage me.”

“You have to think the problem is unsolvable,” he said calmly.

“You essentially enslave me.”

He cocked a shoulder. “I prefer to think of it as domesticating you.”

“Same thing,” she said.

“We could be happy here,” Negan said. “A family.”


	17. Interrogation IV: Conjugal Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the interrogation concludes, Negan and T'Mollek reveal their true feelings for each other and finally give in to the sexual tension that has been building for the past four months.

### Interrogation IV: Conjugal Visit

They were in Negan’s cozy house. It was late afternoon. She was cooking, he and Elgie were playing at the kitchen table. Negan stood and gave T’Mollek an affectionate kiss, his arm gently around her waist. She put her hand on his waist, felt his tight muscles beneath his shirt. She leaned into him and closed her eyes.

When she opened them, they were alone. T’Mollek was straddling Negan, who was seated on the couch, much in the same position they were in on the night of their first intimacy. However, this time, neither of them was wearing a stitch of clothing. She looked down at her bare skin and his.

“This is not how I remember us being dressed,” she whispered with a raised eyebrow but no embarrassment.

He looked down at her and grinned. He absentmindedly bit his lower lip and wet it with his tongue. “This is how we’re dressed when I think of you every night,” he said with a sweet smirk. “But I didn’t think a mind meld could reveal anything that didn’t actually happen yet."

“’Your thoughts to my thoughts,’” she reminded him.

“Ahh, that makes sense,” he said and chuckled deep in his throat at her admission. “You look different than I imagined, though. I’ve never seen this . . . .” He lightly touched a scar on her breastbone, causing a ripple effect down the nerves of her belly. He cocked his head at her. “So you think of us like this, too, huh?”

“I was forced to think of it from the moment I arrived here,” she admitted. “My mission was to gain your trust, to seduce you, to learn your secrets, and then to kill you.”

He laughed incredulously. “Your mission was to seduce me? That was your idea of seduction? The long pants, the bad haircut, the argumentative attitude?”

T’Mollek looked down at her own naked form. “Did it not work?” she asked innocently.

He laughed again, amiably. “I guess it did!” His smile faded as he locked eyes with T’Mollek. His heart was full for her. “Why’d it take us this long to do this?”

“We’re not actually doing anything,” she reminded him.

“Not yet,” he grinned. Then he chuckled. “I didn’t realize conjugal visits were allowed on starship brigs.”

“This isn’t actually happening,” she murmured, shifting her hips a little bit on top of him tantalizingly.

His breath hitched and his eyes half closed with the movement. “All the more reason to enjoy it,” he sighed. He closed his eyes and shifted beneath her, getting comfortable.

“The security guard is sitting ten feet away,” she reminded him.

He flashed a wicked grin. “So we’re bein’ watched?”

She half-smiled. “In a manner of speaking.”

He looked at her with a new sort of intrigue. “You like bein’ watched.”

“That is not the first time that accusation has been made against me,” she remarked.

“Who said it was an accusation?”

T’Mollek looked up at the wall to her left. Her eyes refocused until she could see the security guard as though through a gauzy curtain. He didn’t seem to notice them. She slipped back into Negan’s mind, then shifted her body once again on top of him.

He took a sharp breath. “Now this is what I call a real mind fu—” But her mouth was already on his.

His beard was soft on her face. Their lips melded into one another’s. They fit together perfectly.

He caught his breath. “You’ve ruined me for kissing any other woman as long as I live,” he said in a low murmur.

She shifted once more, taking further control of his body, but he stopped her. She opened her mouth in frustrated protest, her body aching for him.

He put his finger against her lips. “Not until I finish what I started . . .”

The scene faded around them and their positions changed. She was seated, her legs wrapped around him, and he was standing before her, his hands in an intimate place.

***

The security guard glanced up from the novel he was reading on his PADD. The doctor was sitting totally silent with her hands on the prisoner’s face. They were both expressionless. They appeared to be sleeping except their eyes were open. Neither had spoken a word since she had first touched his face, although he thought he heard one of them mumble the words “spin cycle,” whatever that meant.

***

Moments later they faded from the basement laundry room and into the barn’s hayloft, with Negan taking the dominant position on top of the bleary-eyed T’Mollek, who was still experienced aftershocks from his expert manipulation of her body on the washing machine. She thought about asking him where he had learned so much about Romulan physiology, but remembering how her half-sister had come to be, she thought better of it.

Although satiated for the first time in her life, that didn’t mean she wasn’t ready for more. He gave her a moment to recover her breath while she begged him with her eyes, putting wicked suggestions into his mind with no words. But that wasn’t good enough for Negan.

“Ask me for it,” he teased fiercely. “Beg me for it.”

She begged him for it, using erotic language she had never used before.

He did not disappoint her. They climaxed together as she scraped her fingernails against his bare back. They cried each other’s names. Utterly spent, he collapsed next to her on the blanket in the hay, stroking her hair until they both could breathe steadily.

“How you doin’?” he asked with gentle concern.

“Fine,” she asked impassively. “Why?”

He chuffed a little breath by her sudden re-entry into the emotion-free zone. “This is a lot to handle in a short space of time,” he pointed out. “Not to mention, it’s a little weird. I mean . . . your mother and I . . .”

“I said it was not to be discussed,” she said a bit firmly. “She had a . . . medical condition. It was a lifetime ago. It meant nothing.”

“Awright, awright,” he said and relaxed a bit. After a moment, he said, “This is a little bit weird, though, right?”

“Oh, it’s definitely weird,” she readily agreed.

He grinned and kissed her forehead. He suddenly remembered something. “Wait a minute. You said your mission was to seduce and kill me?”

“That is correct.”

“Starfleet sent you to kill me?”

“No,” she said. “My aunt T’Sharr.”

“Why? For killing your parents?”

“Ostensibly. I have my doubts, however. Twenty-odd years is a long time to groom a child for a simple blood vendetta.”

“So . . . . What? The choriocytosis thing?”

“Perhaps. But now I think it may have more to do with your involvement in the Reunification movement.”

He nodded. “I didn’t know how well-known that was.”

“Your reputation precedes you,” she said slyly. In her research into Negan, she had read the fan magazines. He had quite the . . . varied list of conquests.

He dazzled her with his wide, white smile, and his eyes twinkled. Even in her imagination, she felt chemicals fill her brain—and other areas.

When you’re hungry, you eat. When you’re exhausted, you sleep.  When you’re lying on a hayloft staring into Negan’s burnt-honey eyes, you press every part of your body against every part of his body.

When she opened her eyes again, they were back on his sofa.

“Where it all began,” his voice rumbled.

Straddling him, she took full control this time, and he let her.

Afterward, he leaned back against the sofa cushions and she lay back against him, his arms wrapped around her. Amazingly, she was not ashamed of her nakedness in the slightest.

“Ya know, I recognized you right away, even with the new name,” he said after a while, taking her hand, their fingers interlocking sensuously.

“I do have a unique aesthetic.”

He flashed a dimply grin. “I like it.”

She smiled and flushed.

“Do you still have the puffer fish?”

She looked at him askance.

“You know, the one you carved for me when you first arrived on Nimbus III? Your aunt probably destroyed it and made you forget it. You were quite the little artist.”

“I still have it,” she replied. “Now I understand why you continually referenced art. You were attempting to make me open up about my identity.”

“How long did it take for you to figure out who I was?” he asked.

“Minutes after we met, I saw your bracelet,” she said, lifting his hand in hers so that the charm dangled. “I recognized the Specter.”

He nodded again and smiled. “I guess I wasn’t exactly hiding anything.”

“Except the fact that you were in communications with Mirek,” she pointed out.

“I had it under control,” he said.

“Is that why you tried to kill Del?” she asked.

***

T’Mollek and Negan were standing in his office, fully clothed, behind Negan’s desk. There was a knock at the office door. From next to T’Mollek, Negan called, “Come.” The door opened, and T’Mollek said, from next to Negan, “Del is here to see you.”

Del entered and spoke but his voice was inaudible as T’Mollek and Negan discussed the conversation.

“He’s asking too many questions, putting things together about Elgie not bein’ Algalonian,” Negan explained. “If you figured out she was part Vulcan, part Romulan, you’d figure out the truth about all the blood samples I’d been giving you.”

“They were all Elgie’s blood,” she said. “The only samples without a trace of asteria. The similarities to Romulan blood were because of her genetic background, not because of common ancestry being Algalonians and Romulans. And the bee stings. That was you taking her blood in her sleep.”

“I was gettin’ myself stung and smearin’ the venom around the punctures.” Negan rolled up his sleeve to show a series of red, swollen bee stings on his pale upper arm.

Del was walking out of the office and they followed him. Negan took a bottle of water from the mini refrigerator.

“That’s where you kept the poisoned water,” T’Mollek said, indicated the mini refrigerator. “When I tried to serve it at dinner, you poured it into the herb garden. I didn’t think to test the soil, just the ‘murky’ well water. There was no sign of contamination. You were so adamant about not drinking it, but you never actually poisoned the well itself, did you?”

“It really does taste disgusting,” he said. He looked at her. “Did you actually give Elgie water straight from the well, thinking it was poisoned?”

She looked hurt. “Of course not,” she said with indignant dignity. “I took the safe bottles you had given me and pasted on them large, obvious labels that read—”

“W-E-L. That spells ‘well water,’” Negan cut in with a loving smile.

T’Mollek returned his smile, her heart swelling with pride. “Her reading is improving.” She sighed, suddenly ashamed. “The well water was the main clue that convinced me you were poisoning the children. I became ill both times it came in contact with my open wounds.”

“Well, I’d say dumb luck and a little intuition helped you out more than logic on this one,” Negan said. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

“Mirek had just told you the Enterprise had been destroyed, but you failed to share that with anyone else.”

They were back in the office and Mirek was on the computer screen.

“Now how did you know that?” he asked slowly.

T’Mollek reached under his desk and pulled out the transmitter.

“You bugged my office,” he said in mock accusation.

“And the garage,” she added, “which is how I knew where the runabout was hidden.”

“Resourceful little thing, aren’tcha?” he said. She raised an eyebrow at the patronizing use of the word “little,” and he added helpfully, “You had me good and fooled. I underestimated you.”

She still wasn’t appeased.

“You’re really tiny, OK?” he finally said. “That’s not a judgement!”

“Anyway,” she said, looking away to hide the grin that was trying to break out on her face, “you spent a week in the city. Doing what?”

***

They were in the capital city in front of a large building. The doors were blown out. There was rubble everywhere. T’Mollek’s heart rate increased at the sight.

“This is the security sector of the planet,” he said. He turned to her suddenly. “Are you all right?”

She looked at him quizzically.

“You feel a little shaky,” he explained.

“I am fine,” she said automatically, as she always did, even when she wasn’t.

He looked at her skeptically, still feeling her anxiety. “The weapons arsenal is there.” He pointed to a fully intact building. “Was there,” he amended, and their vision of the erect building was replaced by rubble. “The energy field disrupter was below and was still accessible.”

“When the _Enterprise_ first arrived this summer,” T’Mollek said, “you turned the disrupter beam off so we could beam down to meet you. You turned it back on after we left. That’s why we couldn’t beam down or notify Starfleet as to our change in plan.”

“Right.”

“But you disappeared after Doston died,” she said. “You came back here and turned it off again?”

“So I could communicate with Mirek.”

“And she told you the _Enterprise_ was destroyed. She said she’d return for her property in thirty days. She meant the shuttles and runabout?”

“She meant all of us. I had to disrupt the signal again.”

“The explosion . . .”

“After Adiv died, I just kinda lost it,” Negan admitted. “Mirek was coming for us, and we stood a better chance in a ground fight.”

“We could have distracted her in space while you got the children to safety.”

“Couldn’t risk you gettin’ caught. I thought she wanted you as a slave, and I didn’t think you could handle it. You weren’t strong like your parents—I mean, that’s what I thought at the time.”

“I’d thought she was referring to Elgie,” T’Mollek said. “What was your plan?”

“First I had to plant suspicion in Data’s mind against you,” he said. “Keep you off my ass. Then I was gonna set up a booby trap at the camp while I took the runabout.”

This time, both of T’Mollek’s eyebrows went up. “The runabout only seats two. You were going to sacrifice the rest of us.”

“Not all of you,” he said turning to her. “Not you. Elgie still fits in the stasis pod. I was hoping with Data as your enemy, it’d make it easier to leave him behind.”

“And the children? And Del?”

“Trust me, it was better than their bein’ captured. Data would be weaponized. And those babies . . .” He looked away. “It was better they go out in one big bang than let the Romulans get to them. With your plan, we’d all have died anyway.”

With that, Negan turned to enter the control facility. T’Mollek followed him.

In the control room, he flipped the switch to the disruptor beam, shutting down communications and transporter ability onto or off the planet. Then he pulled out a phaser pistol and fried the control panel. Communications and transporter capability were now permanently disabled—at least until the control panel could be repaired. They went back out to the street.

They heard a whistling sound behind them, and the truck containing all the weapons exploded in a massive fireball. Negan was blown past T’Mollek, his phaser flying from his hand. She ran to him.

A Romulan guard stepped forward to address the injured Negan on the ground. His head, face, and body were peppered with shrapnel from the explosion. “Did you really think we would leave the armory unguarded?” The Romulan smirked.

Two additional Romulans emerged, and Negan engaged in hand-to-hand combat with all three. Without a weapon in his hand, Negan had to rely on his strength, his agility, and his muscle memory as a professional wrestler. One of the Romulans took the worst of his wrath.

Negan managed to pull a metal post out of a pile of nearby rubble. It had been part of the security fencing and barbed wire still clung to the post. Using his leather gloved left hand, Negan wrapped the length of wire around the post and swung it at the nearest Romulan’s face. Although he was wearing a helmet, his jaw was exposed and the sound of teeth and bones breaking and blood squelching was sickening. He pulled the post away and pieces of skin came off with it.

Then the other two guards were upon him, and Negan was left bleeding and semi-conscious. But alive.

“Now run along home before we get angry,” the head guard said as they walked toward the facility to attempt to disable the disrupter again. They would be disappointed and would be required to take their shuttle back to the scout ship in orbit immediately.

“That’s quite a swing you have,” T’Mollek said as she helped Negan to his feet.

“You should see what I can do with a baseball bat,” he grinned and spit out a tooth.

She put her arm carefully around him to help him walk down the hill toward camp.

“I thought you said there were six Romulans,” she said dryly to the battered man. “I counted only three.”

“Ehh, still,” he acknowledged with a sidelong grin. “Not too bad a showing for an unarmed human.”

“You could have been killed,” she said sternly. Then more softly, “You left me all alone.”

He nudged her gently with his elbow and leaned in to her as they walked. “Aw, ya missed me.”

She pressed against him in return. “You're still trying to manipulate me into falling in love with you.”

“And usually it works!” he said bemused. “I thought it did, for a minute there, in the barn. You had me good and fooled.”

She looked straight ahead toward the horizon. “I will admit the concept of submission was . . . tempting.”

“It's not too late,” he wheedled.

They passed a burnt-out pillar. A man in a gray jumpsuit leaned against it, his arms folded, a scowl on his face.

“I don’t recognize him,” Negan said, scowling in return. “Who’s that?”

T’Mollek wasn’t sure if Q was really there or was merely a product of her guilty conscience. “No one of consequence,” she said unconvincingly, and Q instantly vanished.

“If the Romulans wanted the children cured,” she asked, continuing on down the road, her arm around Negan, “why would they shoot down the shuttlecrafts?”

“They didn’t want engineers down here to help me,” he said. “And a botanist wasn’t much use to them. But when I told Mirek your name, well . . . . I think she just wanted to end you. She really, really hates you. And she won’t just let this go.”

T’Mollek glanced furtively back at the pillar again. “The Romulans are scanning for body temperature. They don’t know the Enterprise has returned to orbit. It’s cloaked—don’t ask how. There are two _Enterprise_ crew members remaining on Algalon, both with healthy body temperatures. Are the Romulans able to distinguish between children and adults?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he said. “The old guy just said body temperature.”

“So they’ll surmise that everyone has died except you and me.”

“They’ll be coming for you,” he said tensely. “They may already be there.”

“How many more will they send?” she asked.

“They’ll probably send at least six.”

“How many will that leave on board their ship?”

“I’d say another six or eight,” he said, mentally calculating. “The commander, the old guy, and at least four guards.”

After a moment of strategizing, T’Mollek asked, “Do you know how to pilot a type 6 shuttle craft?”

***

They opened their eyes. T’Mollek stood up and nodded to the guard, who released the force field.

“Did you get the entire confession recorded?” T’Mollek asked the guard, stepping out of the cell.

“Um. No,” the guard said, putting the force field back up to lock Negan inside. “You both went silent for about ten minutes and then you opened your eyes.”

“Damn it!” T’Mollek muttered. Why could she never get this right?

“Can we re-record it?” Negan asked from within his cell.

“There’s no time,” T’Mollek said, walking quickly toward the guard and around behind him. She reached up and administered the nerve pinch. The guard collapsed and she gently helped him to the floor. T’Mollek pressed the button to release the force field, and Negan hurried to her side. She hastily typed a message into the computer and pressed a button. Together they left the brig.

“Ten minutes,” she said, more to herself than to him. “I'm improving.”


End file.
